Would I Wash Upon Your Shore
by Torilund Archer
Summary: AU: fem!Hawke is a Tevinter magister. She kills Denarius and wins all that he owns...including Fenris. This will be a full length AU - events will unfold in different ways because some things are simply fated to be.  M for later graphic sex and violence.
1. Revenge

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

**A/N: Thanks to my readers for your patience while this story has been in the works! Chapters 1-5 have been edited for grammar and content. I think they are different enough from the originals that you may wish to re-read them. The same events unfold, they're just better told. To my fabulous betas for this chapter, Tom, lotusflwr, Lywinis and Theresa, a big thank you for your comments and suggestions!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Revenge<strong>

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><p>The heavy wooden doors to Danarius' magnificent dining hall swung open with a loud crack. Guards clad in red steel armor turned toward the sound, hands ready at their swords. Startled slaves hastened to be elsewhere. At the other end of the hall, Danarius' guests looked up from their plates and conversations as a motley group of six weapon-carrying ruffians barged in upon them. The scoundrels had even brought a dog. The dirty beast sniffed and licked his broad chops at the sumptuous smells coming from their fine table. How very distasteful.<p>

A sable-haired woman clothed in a simple, crimson robe marched at the lead of this small company. Her dark eyes blazed with malicious intent. She pointed a graceful finger at the austere, imposing man seated at the center of the long dining table, who still had not bothered to look up.

"Danarius!" The bitterness in her voice filled the room, extinguishing the lightness of the lively dinner atmosphere.

A wine bottle thumped softly onto the linen-covered dining table as its server, a tall, menacing elf in dark armor, reached up for the long sword grip looming high behind his head. The guests were glad that the woman had drawn his attention, as none of them desired it for themselves, despite the excellence of the wine he'd been serving.

Glaring at the ragged band with contempt, the elf snarled.

The four guards drew weapons from their sheaths and advanced, placing themselves between the intruders and their lord.

"Senior Magister Danarius. I, Sofira Hawke, daughter of Leandra Amell of Kirkwall, challenge you to a duel, to avenge the death of my sister!" The woman's voice broke on the last syllable, but her words fell like stones and she thrust her chin forward, daring and defiant.

Danarius's guards looked back to their master for orders. If he agreed to her challenge, by Tevinter law they could not intervene.

Everyone now awaited a response from the senior magister but he appeared to be unaffected by the attention. He simply stretched out his hand and ran his fingertips over the ripe peaches that lay in the golden bowl on the table before him.

"I wondered if you might grace my halls with your presence, young Amell," he drawled in caramel tones.

Only then did his pallid gaze rise, settling on the small group before him like an ominous sky before a storm. His voice remained calm, however. "Tell me, my dear, why you would challenge me to a duel, simply because I thinned the herd of one simpering little mageling? Curious. You _should_ be thanking me. Now you don't have to do it yourself. Killing unworthy family is so tiresome." He bit into a peach, the juice spilling its color into his manicured grey beard.

A slave girl stepped forward, stumbling in her haste to wipe her master's chin. Her frightened eyes darted from her task and then down to the floor again as she returned to her place.

Sounds of amused tittering and the clinking of silver on china perforated the tension as Danarius' guests resumed their feasting. They saw no reason to fear this Sofira Hawke. She was a new magister and a strange, foreign woman. Rumor was that she was from Ferelden and didn't own slaves, that she minimized her use of magic, preferring to fight with a polearm of all things, and that she lived with a handful of other deviants in a small building that could hardly even be called a mansion. Surely this was a bluff. Or an elaborate play, staged for their entertainment.

"My sister was inexperienced, not weak," snarled Sofira over the murmur of conversations and the clatter of silverware, "and I will kill you where you sit if you do not stand up and face me like a man." Her warm brown eyes flashed with a fire that seemed to heat her cheeks and lips as well, coloring them a rosy shade of red.

The tall, armored elf now stood in silence behind his master's exquisitely carved chair. As the woman spoke, he leaned forward, teeth barred, like a dog straining at his leash.

"I do not wish you harm, elf. I only want your master," she warned in response to to the elf's display. Sofira found his appearance so strange, with his white hair and dark skin, to say nothing of those twisted white lines that threaded his neck and arms where his distinctive armor did not protect. Whatever they were, it didn't look to her like Dalish blood writing. Her mind raced, calculating the distance between them.

But Danarius simply waved his minion away with a small flip of his hand. The elf hesitated for a moment but stepped back when his master arched an eyebrow. The magister was used to being obeyed without pause and without question.

The senior magister propped his chin up on his thumb and forefinger, glancing at Sofira with disapproval. Her robe was drab, her bladed staff rustic at best, and she possessed no accessories that he could see. Then he took stock of the pitiful entourage at her back. Tensely awaiting her orders were a large female warrior brandishing an antique shield, a young male warrior who bore some resemblance to their leader, a beardless dwarf with a crossbow, an tall blond mage, a little Dalish witch, a mabari, from the looks of its build, and, strangely, even for this unusual group, a roguish woman not wearing pants. Danarius sneered and shook his head. It was hardly an army, but it was clear to him that he would not be finishing his dinner in peace. Not until he dispatched this brash young thing.

"Very well," he sighed as he rose from his seat, much to the delight of his guests, who clapped in appreciation of their host's unending patience.

"I warn you, Danarius, if you try to engage any of your guards in this duel..."

"Yes, yes... your terrible friends will rain their wrath down upon me and I will be very sorry, I'm sure," said Danarius as he walked around the dinner table to the center of the room. Looking down his long aquiline nose at his challenger, his tone became like ice. "Young one, if your sister was any indication of the family talent, it will take me the length of a sneeze to be rid of you. After this night, I will give neither her nor you a second thought."

His words cut Hawke to the bone, and a strangled cry escaped her lips. Shaking her head to clear the rush of tears to her eyes, she said furiously, "Someone say 'begin' so I can _kill_ this son of a bitch."

As the rest of her entourage backed away, Sofira's red-headed companion with the shield stepped forward, raising her arm. She spoke in a Ferelden accent. "The battle will begin when I drop my hand. Are you..." before she could say "ready," Danarius raised one hand as if to wave away a fly. A jagged bolt of lightning shot from his fingertips hitting his dueling opponent hard. Sofira doubled over and collapsed on the inlaid floor, unmoving. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from her crumpled form.

The Ferelden warrior woman bellowed and drew her sword, but before she could attack, a dark, pulsing force enveloped her, threatening to crush the air from her lungs.

"Aveline!" screamed the little Dalish mage. She looked to Danarius, her voice pleading, "Stop!"

"This injustice will not go unpunished. You dishonor all of us," said the handsome, blond-haired mage of the group, his voice changing as an eerie blue light emanated from his eyes and from the widening cracks in his skin. "That will end tonight!"

At that, Danarius' armored elf came to life, drawing his greatsword as he leaped over the wide dining table, much to the surprise of its occupants. In the blink of an eye that it took to reach the blond mage, the markings on the elf's skin ignited with a bright, white-blue fire, surrounding him in an aura of ghostly light.

The mage barely threw up a shield in time. The elf thrust his hand forward, clawing for the mage's chest. The shield held, slowing the advance of that armored hand to a laborious inching process. The mage staggered back, preparing another spell.

Danarius chuckled. "I wouldn't, if I were you. Try him if you like, but killing mages is something of a speciality for my little wolf."

Then he regarded the little band of would-be assassins.

"Put down your weapons and surrender, or I will kill this woman." He pointed to the red-headed warrior now suspended in a mass of aphotic mist. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gasped for air.

This got the blond mage's attention. The blue cracks closed and the light in his eyes faded back to brown. He eyed the warrior elf, whose gauntlet-covered hand was still trapped for the moment in his temporal shield, and backed away.

"You were all fools to come here." Danarius smiled as the companions laid their weapons on the floor. He leered at them, choosing to torment them in their impotence. "What did you _think_ would happen? Did you really think you could march into _my_ home and strike me down?"

He started to chuckle. His chuckle turned into a bubbling laugh that erupted from his throat and poisoned the air with a hideous resonance.

At this point, Danarius' guests were riveted by the spectacle. They paused in their staring only to send sideways glances at each other, grinning and guessing at what delicious delights would be served in the next few moments. But his slaves cowered, not daring to watch. They all knew what their master meant to do. None of these trespassers would ever see another sunrise.

"You could have toyed with her for a _little_ while, Danarius… you know, for fun," a thin, blonde-haired woman adorned in silks and sapphires sniffed in disappointment.

"Masterfully done, Lord Danarius! Stupendous show!" clapped another, hoping to win favor from the more powerful magister.

Danarius, assured that the situation was under his control, walked over to the body on the floor. His opponent's long, dark hair had spilled around her like water when she fell. It now covered her face. Smoke lifted from her crimson robes. A smell of burnt silk and skin wafted to his nostrils but, dark as her robes were, he could not see any blood which disappointed him. He always liked seeing the blood.

"That was even more pitiful than your sister's death," he insulted her still form, leaning over it. He took hold of an arm and pulled, turning the body face up to admire his work. No one was more surprised than he when a razor sharp poniard drove straight through his throat with a slick tearing sound and poked out the back of his neck.

"My father taught me to never depend on magic." Sofira Hawke wheezed as she twisted the blade hard. Danarius' eyes glazed as a small 'pop' could be heard. "He said it makes one weak."

As the magister's body sagged, she placed her other hand on the center of his chest to keep him from falling on her. A faint crackle of energy sparked between them and Danarius was blown back against his own grand dining table with such force that his awestruck guests gasped and choked on their wine. Plates, glasses and bottles went careening, crashing to the floor. Wine, food and cries of fearful indignation were everywhere.

Sofira stood. A brutal mark charred the front of her robes, but it was no blacker than the expression of rage on her face.

In a voice like stone grinding across stone, she shouted, "I hereby claim everything that Danarius once owned, as is my right. And unless you'd like to see what other little surprises I can think up when I'm angry –_get out of my mansion_."


	2. First Things First

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

A/N: Big thanks and chocolate chip cookies to my betas for this chapter: Tom, lotusflwr, Lywinis and Theresa.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 - First Things First<strong>

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><p>And just like that, the lavish banquet was officially over.<p>

Anders rushed to Aveline's side and caught her as she was released from her magical imprisonment. She gasped for breath, coughing forth a foul mist that had invaded her lungs. The healer held his hand in front of her chest and cast a rejuvenation spell. His eyes closed, shutting out the world to focus on his patient.

Danarius' guests filed out of the room, most making shows of indignation or admiration. Sofira guessed she'd be seeing them all soon enough, one way or another. One man licked his lips at her in a lascivious display. She snarled and he laughed delightedly, giving her a coquettish wave.

The dwarf,Varric, positioned himself by the door, stroking the tiller of his crossbow, Bianca, which once again rested in his arms. He grinned at the magisters as they exited. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Hope you enjoyed the show. We'll be here all week!"

Carver just glared as they passed, thinking to discourage them from trying anything devious. Sofira wasn't in the mood to smile, or she would have cracked a grin, seeing her brother act this way. She hadn't the heart to tell him that if they wanted him dead, he wouldn't even feel it. _Then again, this is Tevinter. _She frowned knowing he would feel it all too well. For a second, Sofira's eyes filled, imagining the pain her sister, Bethany, had endured at Danarius' hands, but she blinked away such thoughts. She could not appear weak in front of these serpents and wolves.

As the thought of wolves passed through her mind, she faced the elf Danarius had called his 'little wolf', still caught in Anders' defensive spell. There was nothing "little" about him, and the spell would wear off soon.

As Sofira caught his gaze, he ceased his struggles and regarded her coolly with wide, green eyes. The white fire from his markings had died away, but he was no less menacing. The one hand not trapped held his greatsword aloft as if it were a child's toy. She had never seen anything like him.

"Do not attack," she ordered and dismissed the spell.

He nodded once and, as the spell faded away, pulled back his hand, rubbing it over his chest. Never breaking contact with her eyes, he placed one foot behind the other as he navigated backwards towards the long dining table. She found herself backing away from him as well.

"Anders," she called out, "Is Aveline all right?"

"I'm fine, Hawke," came a croaking voice.

"Big girl's too tough to be taken out by silly little cloud of death!" The scantily-clad pirate, Isabela, winked at the red-headed warrior woman.

Anders smiled at his patient and helped her to her feet. "Yes, with a good night's rest she'll be right as rain."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sofira noticed Isabela admiring the decorative artifacts on the walls. The pirate posed thoughtfully. "Do you think these are real? I bet they'd fetch a few coppers."

"Isabela, I already bought you a ship," said the injured mage. "Please don't clean me out of house and home before I know what's in it."

"You wound me, Hawke!" said the pirate, playing the victim. Under her breath she added, "And you only paid for _half_ of it."

"She won't, but I might," said Aveline, sounding a bit stronger. She looked around, spotting the armored men. "Guards, are you slaves, or hired swords?"

Of the four men dressed in red steel, one lowered his weapon and stepped forward. His blue eyes were fearful. Selling off or even executing the guards of a former magister post-duel was not unusual. He looked first at Aveline, then to the mage in the scorched robes who had killed his master, trying to choose. He took a few more steps and knelt before the mage. "We are your obedient slaves, Mistress. What is your will?"

Sofira had heard the question but hadn't expected the man to come to her for an answer. Her brow furrowed.

"What? Oh. Nothing as yet." She paused. "Wait. How many of there are you in total?"

"Two men per floor, Mistress, plus three outside, behind the manor, and four at the front gate."

"I see. Well, I guess you can find your fellows and inform them of the change in command. Then make sure the grounds are secure." Her attention was distracted again by movement. She turned to see Merrill composing a kind of diminutive dance as the little mage traced intricate tile patterns on the floor with her toes.

"As you will, Mistress." The guard breathed an audible sigh of relief as his fellows sheathed their weapons and made to depart.

"The four at the front gate will be unresponsive for at least another hour I'm afraid," Sofira said frowning as she turned back to the blue-eyed man.

He paled, then bowed and ran after his comrades.

As the last of the magisters made their exit, Varric shut the doors to the hall. "I thought they'd _never_ leave!"

Sofira thought she heard a giggle from Merrill, but the Dalish mage had disappeared.

Carver snorted in approval. "I agree. None too soon."

The only people left in the room were the slaves who had been serving at the banquet, and the tall, strange-looking elf in dark armor who now bent over Danarius' body, feeling for a pulse. Satisfied, he seemed to say something, but it was too softly spoken for Sofira's ears. When he noticed her observing him, he left the body and stood, bending his neck in supplication. A curtain of silvery white hair hid most of his face, but Sofira sensed that he watched her.

She was about to address him when an unknown woman breezed into the hall through a doorway in the rear corner. A serving egress perhaps? The woman's graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She was human and possessed a quiet dignity that drew Hawke to her instantly.

"I am Aran, keeper of this property." She stopped and bowed, unsure where to turn. "Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?"

"I am Magister Sofira Hawke. Danarius is dead and I am the new owner of this house," said Sofira.

The housekeeper bowed again in response. "Then, I am at your command, Mistress Hawke. What is your desire?"

Her bow, more of a grovel actually, dipped lower as Sofira came closer.

_Such a gentle woman bent to a life of slavery._ It saddened Sofira. "Please stand, Aran. You have no need to bow before me."

"I don't understand, Mistress. Are you," she hesitated, "testing me?"

The slave's solicitous eyes matched her voice, which trembled as she spoke. "I beg you, my Lady, give us a chance. Danarius' tastes were very particular, only the best of everything! Ask anything of us and it will be done. If you wish, I shall call the household immediately."

Before she had even finished speaking, Aran gestured at a young elven woman who waited by the serving door.

"No, please. Stop," said Sofira, "I simply meant that we do not have slaves where I come from, and I would prefer it if you did not cower before me like I am about to strike you. I would never do such a contemptible thing, I swear to you. Please stand."

Aran permitted herself a sweet, if fleeting, smile in response. She straightened a little but her head remained low. "My new Mistress is very kind."

"I'm quite certain you deserve some kindness after," she motioned towards the lifeless body of the senior magister, "but I hope you will not mind if I make some requests of you."

Aran shook her graying head. "No, Mistress, of course not. Ask me anything."

She gave the slave a friendly smile. "There is no need to disrupt your normal routine. Just inform everyone of what has occurred. I can meet the staff tomorrow. Tonight, I will require sleeping quarters for my companions. I'll also need an inventory of Danarius' holdings, here and elsewhere, but that can wait a few days. Lastly, I will require a review of the security here, as well as a list of people who might be interested in avenging Danarius."

Aran nodded and made mental notes as Hawke spoke. Twice, Sofira noted, her eyes flickered to the silent warrior elf who still stood next to the body of his dead master.

When Sofira was done with her list, the housekeeper bowed and said, "It will be done, Mistress. Oviana, find Yulian and prepare chambers for the Mistress and her guests." The elven girl by the door bowed and hurried out of the dining hall.

Aran turned back to Sofira and continued, "Caius Noor is the top financier in Tevinter. He handles," she gasped at her mistake, "I beg your forgiveness, Mistress - _handled_ Danarius' finances and holdings. If you desire, I will send a messenger at dawn to request his presence. But, as far as security and who might now wish you harm, you should speak to Danarius' personal bodyguard, Fenris." She pointed at the armored elf who flinched at the sound of his name.

"Personal bodyguard," Sofira repeated to herself. "Awkward."

She sighed. "All right. Thank you, Aran. Please see to those rooms."

As Aran hastened away, she walked over to the elf, appraising. He was a about a hand width taller than she and well-muscled; lean but corded like a dancer. A ribbed steel chest plate and clawed gauntlets lay over black leather, giving him a sleek, predatory appearance. His dark olive-toned skin, where it was not covered by armor, was etched with thick vine-like white lines which seemed to - _wait, that's lyrium!_ she realized.

Without thinking, she reached out to touch one of the lines. The elf flinched as her fingers came in contact with his skin. The lyrium responded to her touch as would a raw node. Sofira ran her finger along the line — it sang to her. She heard a grunt of... pain? Anger? Disgust? She was terribly curious about the lines, but the elf seemed to be gritting his teeth in response to her touch. Hawke could only begin to imagine what it had taken to suspend lyrium in a man's flesh this way. She withdrew her hand.

"Fenris, please look at me," she said in a quiet voice. The elf obeyed. As he raised his head, she could see that the lyrium continued up his neck and onto his chin. She also noticed how his dark eyebrows contrasted well with his tousled white hair. His eyes reminded her of a walk in the forest, they were so green. He had a straight elven nose, high cheekbones, a solid jawline, and a sensuous mouth. _Maker, what a handsome man._

"Fenris, I just killed the man you were supposed to protect. How do you feel about this?" she asked, her throat suddenly dry. The crude question hung in the air like a Dwarven belch in a chantry.

_Smooth, Sofira. Well done._

He spoke in a rich, deep timbre. "I am a slave, Mistress. I have no feelings on the matter. My old master is dead. My new mistress stands before me. I will serve you to the best of my abilities."

"You harbor no feelings of vengeance?" she asked, responding to something subtle but dangerous in his voice.

A shadow moved behind his eyes. "By Tevinter law, I could not intervene without my master's permission. A duel is between two consenting magisterial citizens of the empire, and _he_ did not call for me to stand in his place."

Then, before his gaze returned to the floor, he stared into her eyes long enough to say, "It is the only reason you are still alive... _Mistress_."

Sofira's mabari, Bellator, growled threateningly. She patted him on the head.

_This elf_ _hasn't been completely broken like the others. As long as he doesn't try to kill me in my sleep, we're going to get along just fine._

"Fenris, am I going to have a problem with you?" she asked.

"No, Mistress. I am yours. I will protect you with my life."

"Very well but please stop calling me Mistress. It's Sofira. Or Hawke, if the first name feels too familiar. I will be relying on you to help me bring a new order to this house. I just wanted to make sure you were on my side."

"As you command, Mistress."

Her eyes narrowed but there was no further response. "Well, we'll work on that."

"Aveline?" she asked, turning to her friend. "I have a job for you. Take Merrill, Varric and Fenris, here. Check in with the guards and run a quick sweep of the property. Make sure everything is secure for the night."

Fenris moved with animal grace toward the hall doors, motioning for Aveline and Varric to follow. "I will show you the grounds."

Varric hung back a bit looking for the Dalish mage. "Daisy? Where did you go?"

The little elf's head popped out from inside the grand fireplace which would have contained a roaring fire, had it been a colder season. "Do you know you can walk around inside of this thing? It's enormous!"

Sofira smirked. "Merrill, please go with Aveline. Look for signs of any errant blood magic."

"Oh, right. Happy to help." The young Dalish woman skipped over to the departing group. Varric fell in behind her and waved to Hawke. Then they were gone.

Sofira felt a little better now that things were starting to fall into place. She absentmindedly scratched at an itch on her side, only to hiss in pain as her fingernails grazed the wound.

Anders approached, clicking his tongue as he looked at the charred remains of her robe. He reached forward. "You'd better let me have a look at that."

She avoided his touch.

"I'm fine. This is going to take hours to clean up before you can heal me, and we have far too much to do right now. Besides, I can stand and I can breathe, so you don't need to worry about me." She held out her arms, hiding her pain behind a smile. "See? I'm fine."

"I doubt that," said Anders, placing his hands on his hips. "You'd better let me take care of it soon. We don't need our fearless leader dying of infection, thank you very much."

"Noted," she said, ending his mothering for the time being. "I would appreciate it if you saw to the guards at the front gate though. They will need some of your tender loving care."

Anders chuckled in a rueful tenor. "No doubt."

"Carver? Help me take this," she nudged the body of Danarius with her toe, "outside. Let's burn the damned thing."

"My grandest pleasure, sister," said Carver as he walked over and spit on the body. Stabbing a finger at the bloody corpse he hissed, "_You_ will not harm anyone, _ever _again."

Sofira's eyes filled again at the memory of her dear sister's face. Wiping her eyes she said, "Okay, let's just get it done. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and who knows what kind of surprises are around the corner."

"I love surprises!" said Isabela, ogling Carver's behind as he bent over to drag the magister's body away by the boots.


	3. Sleeping Arrangements

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

A/N: Giant sugar cookies to my betas for this chapter: lotusflwr, Lywinis and Tom

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Sleeping Arrangements<strong>

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><p>Bits of black, papery ash fluttered in the air. Thick smoke carried what was left of a powerful madman up into the heartless night. A guard had been assigned to tend the blaze, but Carver remained behind anyway, long after the others had gone.<p>

The details of Bethany's murder were sketchy. Three days ago, she had simply disappeared. The companions had mounted a search as soon as they realized she was gone. A contact of Varric's had led them to a body found in an alleyway off of the market in Minrathous hightown. It was _her_ body, burned almost beyond recognition except for a few remnants of jewelry, cloth and hair.

Varric didn't have to grease many palms before a name came up: Danarius. Apparently, Bethany had upset the senior magister somehow. He had driven her into that alley and she had never come back out.

No one was willing to say any more that this.

Carver sat staring into the flames, breathing in the sickly-sweet aroma of burning flesh and wood. He tried to imagine what his twin could have possibly done to anger Danarius. Everyone had loved Bethany. It was unthinkable that she had earned such a hateful fate.

As the long fingers of heat performed their light play before his eyes, he saw Beth. He saw her sweet oval face and innocent smile. He heard her chattering away. He saw her casting spells, her graceful arms weaving unseen energies into physical form. He remembered times when she had worried and laughed and argued and cried. Seeing her cry always made him so uncomfortable, but he would give anything for it now if it meant his twin sister were still alive. Tears ran down his own cheeks then. For a time he simply let them fall, oblivious to the presence of the other man, the guard.

Only when the moon began its descent to make way for the sun did he stand, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He made a tiny gesture: one finger over another with a subtle double jab. It was the sign in their secret twin language they'd most often used. Its meaning was twofold. _I'm watching you. I'm here for you._

"Be at peace, Beth," he whispered.

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><p>While Carver kept his vigil, Aran showed the rest of the companions to their rooms.<p>

As they went, Sofira became more and more acquainted with the kind of man Danarius had been. His tastes had staggered between garish and gruesome. She noticed with displeasure that, while everything was of the finest craftsmanship and made from the most extravagant materials, his artistic themes ran more to intimidation than practicality. There was no harmony, no serenity. From the hideous Old God relics and long-toothed animal pelts to the formal furniture and oppressive dark colors, it was a hopeless prison for the soul. At least the beds looked comfortable, but the rest of the mansion would have to be redecorated as soon as possible.

_There is no joy here. Everything is so large and costly, as if its all meant to make one feel insignificant. What a depressing place._

Once she saw that her companions were settled, Sofira allowed Aran to guide her to the chambers that had served as Danarius' master bedroom. Bellator, her faithful mabari hound, trotted along at her side, grinning ear to ear. The bodyguard, Fenris, followed behind them.

After viewing the stomach churning row of rare animal heads adorning the last room, Sofira dreaded to discover what kind of 'art' the Senior Magister might have chosen for his own quarters. If there had been another empty bed available, she would have taken it without a moment's hesitation.

Aran stopped and gestured at a massive door made of dark wood.

_What is the point of a door this big? _Two burly men could have walked through it side by side and it was taller than she by a half. Four large wooden panels had been carved into its face with painstaking detail. Sofira peered with trepidation at the upper right panel. It was difficult to discern the event portrayed. A myriad of contorted figures seemed to fight for dominance. _A historical battle of some sort?_ The armor and weapons were somewhat familiar but the creatures were much too fantastic and vile. P_erhaps a chantry allegory?_ Her attention was drawn to a small figure which writhed in... _sweet Andraste, is that a baby?_

She averted her eyes away from the repulsive scene as sour bile rose up in her throat. This too would be replaced. And destroyed.

"Are you certain there aren't any other rooms?" Sofira asked plaintively.

"Only slave quarters, Mistress."

_I wouldn't mind, but that would mean kicking some poor slave out of his or her bed._ Steeling herself, she released the latch and pushed on the heavy door.

Inside, the air smelled of mountains and fire. A small, backless antechamber opened into a larger room, both wide and deep, bereft of any windows or other doorways as far as she could tell. To the right of the door, fat, leather bound tomes sat on high shelves. An embroidered reclining chair covered in stiff, velvet cushions, an ornate lamp and a heavy-looking table all lounged weightily nearby. Along the wall hung more of those damned beast heads, bearing the tortured expressions of a boar, a bear and a creature she did not recognize. The teeth were barred in either anger or pain; it was difficult to tell. Beneath these was a long, thin table carved of grey and blue veined stone. On its surface rested a crystal bowl of clear liquid. To one side of the bowl, a stack of small white towels and a pair of earthen jars.

On the far wall was a large, magnificent wardrobe, made of dark knotted wood. Next to that, another ornate lamp and table matching the ones to the right of door. Dominating the center of the room was a huge canopy bed. Thorny vines were carved into the four thick, round posts, entwining up and disappearing into an abundance of fabric so dark, it reminded Sofira of the blood that could only come from the deepest parts of a body. It draped like a dome of mourning above the bed, hanging down to curtain off the back and sides.

On the left wall, a massive fireplace roared with life, casting its influence across the entire room. Sofira could feel its dry heat from where she stood. The exterior of the hearth was carved with more figures, but Sofira knew now not to learn their form or meaning. Above this hung several life-sized portraits of grim men and women, dressed in ancient finery. If the monstrous bed were not in the way, they would have been allowed to glare at the animal heads on the opposing wall. To the left of the door stood a pair of high-backed, gilded chairs, which could have passed for thrones in Ferelden, and more shelves packed with heavy books. Covering the entire floor of the bed chamber was a somber carpet of indistinct color, woven with a complex pattern of repeating Imperial symbols.

Sofira's head ached just looking at such pointless opulence. That pain only served to remind her that her burns still needed attention.

Bellator, sensing this was their destination, charged into the room and leaped upon the bed. He circled three times before flopping down onto his side.

"I'm glad _you_ like it, boy." _I hate everything! Thank the Maker I'm bone tired or sleeping here would be impossible. _

"Thank you," she said flashing a weak smile at the housekeeper, "It will do."

Aran bowed and went to the impressive wardrobe at the back of the room. She opened the doors and selected an off-white dressing gown.

"Will you sleep in this tonight, Mistress? It is the finest we have. The fabric is as soft as a child's skin." She brought the gown to over for closer examination.

"It's ...not actually made from..." Sofira paused. One could never be too sure with Danarius. And judging from that panel on the door, it was not a distant possibility.

"Oh no, my Lady, no!" Aran shrunk back horrified.

Sofira thought she heard a chuckle from behind them, but it was so soft and gone so quickly she couldn't be certain.

Weariness threatened to take her where she stood. "Okay. Just lay it on the bed. Thank you, Aran."

The older woman held out her hands. "I will help you undress and wash before you retire, my Lady. You must be tired." Her eyes lingered on Sofira's ruined robes.

Hawke stepped back. "No need. I can do all that myself."

_The last thing she needs is to help me clean this disgusting wound. Maker, I don't even want to do it._

Sofira walked over to the washing table at the right of the room and rolled up her sleeves, which had not been charred by Danarius' lightning blast. She called out, "You've been wonderful. Go get a good night's sleep and I will see you in the morning."

"As you wish, Mistress." Aran sounded unsure but Sofira heard her walk obediently to the bed and then out the door, closing the ponderous thing behind her with an echoing click of the latch.

She lowered her hands into the crystal basin. Despite the warmth of the room, the water was cool and refreshing. She bent forward, cupping her hands together, and lifted a pool of water to her face. What a simple and divine pleasure after such an emotionally demanding day.

Then it occurred to her that there was still someone in the room. Grabbing a towel, she patted her face dry and turned around to see Fenris standing as still as a statue just inside the main room. His eyes were cast to the floor.

Over the last three hours that it had taken to check the grounds and burn Danarius' body, she had become more comfortable with his presence. She didn't quite trust him but she hoped that would come with time. If anything, she pitied him. He hadn't had an easy life, she guessed, and this latest chapter must feel uncertain at best.

"Fenris, the day is over. What are you waiting for?" She turned her attention back to the water and dipped a cloth. There were several tugs at her skin where the crimson gown clung unnaturally. She alternated patting the damp cloth over these places and picking at them with her fingers, trying to dislodge bits of fabric where the robe had seared to her flesh.

_This is going to take all night._

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Another hand brushed her long, dark hair to the side. Sofira stiffened and dropped her cloth. She felt both hands move to the lacings at the back of her neck. The tips of steel gauntlets tickled her skin above the collar as the top knot came undone.

Sofira gasped and turned to face the man behind her. Forest green eyes gazed into her own. Seeing her expression, Fenris' hands came up defensively between them.

"Have I done something wrong, Mistress?" he asked, his deep voice marked with concern.

"What are you doing?"

"I... thought you wished me to help you undress, Mistress." Embarrassment, fear and confusion warred on his handsome face.

Sofira recalled the clumsy wording she had used in her attempt to send him away. She started to laugh.

"Oh, Fenris, I'm sorry. That was my fault. I didn't mean..." The tension of the day's events and all the days leading up to this one spilled out of her in the rush of words. She pushed past the bodyguard and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding her sides despite the pain, laughing as she hadn't laughed in months.

Bellator rolled over and nuzzled her hip with his cold nose.

The elf lowered his hands, deciding that no punishment was forthcoming, at least while Mistress Hawke was in this state. Fear conceded to embarrassment and confusion.

Sofira wiped her eyes. Her stomach hurt in a good way. For the moment at least, it took away the ache in her heart and the nagging pain of her burnt skin.

"Thank you, Fenris. I needed that, you have no idea."

The elf inclined his head. Confusion, having won the battle, now settled on his face.

"What I _meant_ to say is that it's been a long day and I'm sure you are tired. Get out of here. Go get some sleep, okay?" As she spoke, she saw him appraising the damage to the front of her body. She looked down at the rough, black patch and winced. "Yes, it's a mess, isn't it."

He nodded. "I have some experience dressing injuries of this nature, Mistress. If you wish, I can assist you."

Sofira heard sincerity and sympathy in his words. Or was it empathy? She hoped not.

Under normal circumstances, she would ask Bethany to help her with this, or Anders... but one of those options was no longer available, and she wouldn't wake Anders from his well-deserved rest. _Even though he probably wouldn't mind._

The healer had tried to look at her wounds a second time after the body of Danarius was thrown onto the pyre, but she had put him off. It was that sad, adoring look he'd been giving her again. She hadn't seen it in two years, since before they left Kirkwall. It made her want to scream.

If he weren't always going off on his own and starting trouble, if he weren't harboring a wrathful spirit of justice within him, if he hadn't blown up the office of the Knight Commander of Kirkwall, killing her innocent tranquil assistant by mistake, well then maybe they could have been more than friends. She had come to Tevinter partly for him after all, to protect him from the repercussions of his actions. She did care for him, she just couldn't see a future with him.

Now, she needed to do something before an infection set in, but the only person who was available was a warrior slave she barely knew.

_Well, if he's willing to help and he's had experience with this sort of thing, I can't ask for more than that. As a warrior, he's probably seen grosser things than this anyway. Maker, I hope this isn't a big mistake._

"All right," she agreed at last. "Thank you, Fenris."

He went to the wardrobe and selected an over-sized robe which he placed in front of the fire where the light was brightest. Then he retrieved the basin of water and clean towels from the washing table, placing them on the stones in front of the hearth. As Sofira walked over to place he had prepared, he removed his gauntlets and set them on the floor next to his greatsword.

She reached down, sucking in air as the pain flared. She retrieved a knife from her boot and started sawing at the fabric of her robes just above the blackened patch.

Fenris reached out to hold up the bulk of the fabric behind her back until it seemed the job was done.

"You should lie down, Mistress. If you let this fall, the weight of it will tear your skin."

She nodded, handing him the blade. Once she was comfortable on the floor, he took the little knife and set to work opening the side seam of her robe. Sofira watched his face. He was focused, impassive, as if cleaning a fish or mending a shirt, not bent to the task of removing a woman's clothing in front of a roaring fire. She couldn't help but grin and think of Isabela's stories. If she had been Isabela, or perhaps not covered in disgusting burns, or if this man hadn't been a slave simply doing his duty, this scene might have had a different flavor.

She covered her mouth at the thought, giggling despite the pain.

The elf stopped and peered at her through thick lashes.

Sofira calmed herself. "Sorry. It's okay. I'm just overtired. It's making my mind do strange things. Continue please."

He did, with a little more vigor this time. Almost immediately, she grunted as he cut too close to a spot where the fabric had melted to her body. He froze again. When her breathing returned to normal, he cut around to a safer area and continued until the seam was completely open.

"Are you ready, Mistress?" he asked. On her nod, the elf peeled back the front of her robe until all of the free cloth was removed. He set the tattered folds down on the other side of her, near the fire.

She lifted her head off the floor, looking down at his work. The collar, upper part of the bodice, and sleeves of her gown were intact, although the jagged new hem didn't quite cover the bottom of her breasts. She flushed pink and checked her small clothes. They were mostly undamaged. Singe marks stretched from the base of her sternum down over her abdomen and ended atop the bone of her left hip. It was nothing less than a stinking black eyesore of scorched cloth, skin and blood.

_Thank the Maker my ward of protection lasted long enough to absorb most of the blast or I'd be a stain on the floor of that dining hall._

Fenris placed the white washing cloths into the crystal basin. Once they were soaked, he laid them one at a time over the burns. The coolness and moisture were instantly soothing.

"These dressings should sit. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mistress?" There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, you've done enough. You should get some sleep." She favored him with a quick smile.

"I must still clean this wound, Mistress, or you will develop a fever. The skin must be freed of debris or it will not heal properly."

She cocked her head. "You seem to know a lot about these things. Are you a healer as well as a swordsman?"

"No, Mistress." He lowered his eyes once more and would not meet her gaze.

After a moment, she said, "I'll offer you a compromise. I won't pry into your secrets and you will stop calling me 'Mistress'."

There was no response.

* * *

><p>Sofira awoke some time later to the light touch of fingers prodding at her belly. She couldn't remember falling asleep. That she hadn't been startled into setting the owner of those fingers on fire surprised her. It had been years since anyone had been this close to her as she slept. She opened her eyes and looked down at her body.<p>

Her new elven bodyguard had somehow managed to clean the lower half of her wound without waking her. There were bits of fabric soaked in watery blood near his knee. What remained was a smooth surface of raw skin. It glistened angrily but it was clean.

"You're amazing," she whispered. "I'm not sure even Anders would do this good a job."

Fenris looked up, recognizing the name and the compliment it implied. The faintest angle appeared at the corner of his mouth but it was gone in an instant. "May I continue, Mistress?"

She nodded, laying her head back down on the floor with a soft thump.

* * *

><p>She must have fallen asleep again.<p>

Morning came and the great wooden door opened, letting in a bath of sunlight from the hallway beyond. Sofira's eyelids fluttered open.

Her whole body ached. The back of her head pounded from lying on the hard floor all night. A blanket had been thrown over her legs and hips, covering her body up to the lower edge of the burned area. She patted the cloths on her stomach. They were cool and wet. _They've been recently changed._

Bellator was curled up on the rug, his head resting next to hers. She could smell his musky doggy breath.

Aran and an elven girl holding a stack of fresh linens entered the room.

"Mistress?" The housekeeper hurried to Sofira's side, alarmed. "Are you all right? Where is Fenris?"

"I am here, Aran." The elven warrior stood up from his chair. "The Mistress is fine."

There was a soft knock at the door. "Sofira? How are you this morning? May I come in?"

She recognized Anders' voice.

Bellator got up and shook himself, huffing at the familiar sound.

"You have impeccable timing, my friend. Please do come in," said Sofira, a grin spreading across her face. She was too groggy to remember the looks he'd given her the night before.

Anders strode into the room. When he saw her state, he rushed to her side and knelt. Aran stepped aside to make room for the excited mage.

"You foolish woman, you tried to take care of this yourself? You're not a healer! Why didn't you let me take care of it last night? Stop touching it. What are these? Washing cloths? I said stop touching it! Let me see!" The flurry of words and accusations continued as Anders lifted corners of the square wet cloths to check her wounds.

"Oh, this actually looks quite good!" he said in surprise, "I'll have this healed up for you in a moment." He removed the cloths, then closed his eyes and placed his hands over Sofira's stomach. A warm light bloomed as the red, angry flesh closed and then faded to pink. Within moments, her skin had smoothed over completely, leaving not even a scar.

"Well, that's much better," he said, pleased with the result. "How do you feel?"

"I feel great, thanks to you and Fenris," she answered. "No pain!"

"Fenris?" questioned the mage, puzzled.

The elf in question had moved closer. He looked as if he were ready to spring on the blond mage, his face intent.

Anders sat back. "What is it with you?"

"I would not have let you harm her, abomination," came the reply.

"Abom... I just healed her, you stupid git," laughed Anders nervously. "Are you still sore over the whole why-can't-I-move thing from last night? Because I think you _were_ trying to kill me!"

"Leave him alone, Anders," Sofira frowned and whacked Anders on the arm. "Fenris did an amazing job of cleaning my wounds and I think he stayed with me all night making sure I was okay. He doesn't know any of us so he doesn't understand our little band of misfits. I don't mind if he's being overprotective."

"If you say so," said Anders, looking away from the elf and back to his friend. Smiling, he extended his hand. "Here, I'll help you up. We can... oh, good _morning_!"

As soon as she stood up, Sofira realized how little of the material from her crimson robes still remained. Her hands flew up to cover her breasts, wide sleeves of the shredded robe serving her well.

"Um... yes. I will see you at breakfast, Anders. Thank you for your assistance."

"On my way," replied the flustered mage. As he disappeared into the sunlit hall, he called over his shoulder, "Glad I could help!"

_Maker, I hope this little incident isn't going to make it worse between us._

"Aran, would you be a dear and find a changing screen for me?" asked Sofira. "There seem to be a lot of people coming and going from my room this morning."

As the housekeeper scurried off on her mission, Sofira looked to the elf. He had turned his back to peruse a shelf of books, a collection of Mavelli Nicolo's works. Part of her had to admit some disappointment that he seemed more interested in the books.

She didn't notice the pink tinge on the tips of his long ears.


	4. Breakfast

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

A/N: Thanks to my fabulous betas: lotusflwr, Lywinis and Tom

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Breakfast<strong>

* * *

><p>It was the most decadent breakfast any of them had ever eaten, in both quantity and quality. Succulent meats steamed their aromas into the air. An assortment of salty cheeses sat at either end of the long table, complimented by baskets of potato bread, fresh from the ovens. Several fat fish, caught just that morning, had been rubbed with herbs, baked in butter, and then fanned out on a silver platter. Plump, ripe fruits and sweet, flaky pastries were arranged artfully and served on hand-painted plates. In the center of the table, on an ivory tray, was a display of apples, pears and grapes made out of sugar that had been melted, colored and blown like glass. The effect was so natural, Sofira couldn't tell they weren't real until she picked up an apple and was shocked to find it weighed almost nothing.<p>

For a few minutes after they sat down to eat, nothing could be heard but the sounds of clinking silverware and sighs of appreciation.

Despite the impressive presentation, Hawke was unable to focus on her breakfast for long — her concern for her brother weighed too heavily upon her mind. He had sat down at the far end of the table, away from the others, and the dark circles under his eyes gave him the haunted look of someone who hadn't slept in days. Carver's table manners were never exemplary, but today he hunched over his food like an animal, spooning bits of fish into his mouth until he realized the spoon was not a fork. He looked at it, turning it over, wondering how a spoon had gotten into his hand, then switched to the more appropriate utensil, scowling. Sofira would have laughed, but the reasons for his ill temper were too close to her own heart. She missed Bethany so much, it felt like an aching void that might never be filled. But Carver and Beth had been twins. She couldn't imagine how much harder this must be for him. She sent him some reassuring glances, which he responded to by wrinkling his nose at her in a most younger-brotherly way.

Reverting to their normal behavior was comforting. Sofira stuck out her tongue at him as she pushed up the sleeves of her new robe for the twelfth time since she'd sat down. She had picked this grey one out of Danarius' wardrobe as a replacement for the scarlet robe he'd destroyed, but it wasn't a comfortable fit, too heavy and too large.

It was good for comic relief though. Carver chuckled a little watching her try to eat without getting grey cloth in her mouth or dragging a sleeve through her food.

She gave him a shrug and sighed. Though the robe was truly annoying, she'd been playing it up for his benefit.

_At least he's not staring listlessly at his breakfast any more. I should make some time for him today. We haven't really talked since Beth died. He might tell me to go smoke a dead ox and leave him alone but I've got to give it a try._

Once the decision was made, she looked over at her friend, Aveline.

The guardswoman had been the first to arrive that morning and, as such, had long since finished her breakfast. Ever the work horse, Aveline had made sketches of the grounds the night before and now she scribbled her ideas for improving defensibility on a sheet of parchment. Should the property be attacked by allies of its former master, she aimed to be ready for them.

_Maybe she can give Carver something to do, to occupy his mind. _

_And then there's Fenris... I wonder how Aveline and Fenris are going to work together. I'm not going to put a stranger in charge of my defenses, even if he does know the property and the men. Aveline will have to be my captain. After Kirkwall, running this place will be easy for her. _

_I could have Fenris spend more time training the guards, if he stays here, that is. He certainly seems to have some unique abilities._

She shifted in her chair and scratched at her arm. The grey robe was starting to itch.

That and the sound of Varric's voice brought her back to the moment. The dwarf was telling Merrill a old tale about an ancient and powerful witch who cursed a beautiful princess with a poisoned apple. He was just getting to the part where the princess had eaten a bite of the fruit and fallen into a deep sleep. The Dalish elf sat enraptured, listening to the dramatic rise and fall of the bard's voice as he spoke. She knew it was just a legend but, because of her keeper training, she could appreciate the fine craft of storytelling.

Anders, sitting next to the blood mage, much to his chagrin, had heard this particular tale a hundred times, so he was less than impressed. He couldn't hold back the occasional eye roll or huff when details of the story became grander than the last time Varric told it. He picked at his pastry.

Isabela was telling a story of her own, in writing. She had a pile of pages next to her and just couldn't stop adding to it. She would write paragraphs in between bites of food. Now and then she emitted little squeals of delight. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as her quill bobbed up and down with the speed of a hummingbird. She barely had the patience to sand the ink and set the page down to dry before picking up another.

Inspired by her surroundings, Isabela had stayed up half of the night penning a new novel. As soon as the sun dawned outside her window, she'd woken and started again. This had the potential to be her best work yet, full of intrigue and sex, the high seas and sex, damsels in distress and battles fought from the backs of elephants. And sex.

Suddenly she hit a writer's block. Isabela stared at the page before her, frowning and tapping her feet. She took a bite of herbed white fish, letting it melt in her mouth. Then, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration, she rubbed the feathered end of her pen back and forth across her chin. When no answers came, her gaze wandered around the room.

It came to rest upon the unusual elven warrior standing protectively behind Hawke's chair. A sly expression slid across her face. For the moment, her newest tale of passion was forgotten due to the irresistible temptation of a live target.

"You know," she began, slowing her words to a suggestive crawl, "I enjoy a man with markings such as those."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Isabela except the one person to whom she was speaking.

Varric tossed a coin at Anders who caught it mid air.

Aveline, knowing exactly where this was headed, buried her nose in her work again but her voice carried clearly across the table. "You've enjoyed many, I suspect."

Isabela ignored her, warming to her subject. "Where I come from, they're called 'tattoos'. Sailors get them all the time."

When no one else responded, Fenris looked up cautiously to find her staring at him. She seemed to be awaiting a response. "Not made of lyrium, I'd imagine," he said in a low voice.

"Not a one. And the pictures are different—usually breasts." Isabela smiled, leaning forward to heighten her 'assets' which, as per usual, she had on display in the gaping vee of a low cut blouse.

Oblivious to the pirate's ploy, Merrill interjected. She looked at Fenris with both curiosity and concern. "Your tattoos are made of lyrium? How is that possible? It must have hurt terribly."

"It did," was the cold reply. Fenris focused on the back of Hawke's chair, avoiding the pirate's stare and the view of her over-exposed cleavage.

Carver had stopped paying attention to the conversation as soon as Isabela's breasts became the focus. He piped up, "You know, I have a tattoo."

"Really," droned the elf.

Carver didn't notice the irritated quality of the elf's voice. He had gotten Isabela's attention. He stood up and started walking toward the Rivaini woman. "Yep! A lot of us got them before Ostagar."

He sat down in the chair next to Isabela and rolled up his sleeve, exposing his muscled arm and the tattoo. "It's a Mabari. For strength."

"Does it curse you with the ability to reach into a man and tear out his insides?" growled Fenris, who leveled a meaningful look at Anders.

A hush fell over the table. In a small voice, Merrill leaned towards Anders and whispered, "Is he serious? He can't be serious. He's joking right? I hope he's joking."

Anders ignored his Dalish neighbor, returning the elf's baleful stare with one of his own.

Carver blinked. "Uh. I can make it bark."

"I'd rather see it wag," purred Isabela with a grin, placing her hand on the young man's arm.

Merrill's mouth opened and closed. And opened again. "That's ...ew."

"Seconded!" Varric raised a finger.

Sofira made a face as if she'd just eaten a large bug. "Thirded. He's my brother and I'm eating, Isabela. Please!"

_Flirting with Carver now? If it gets his mind off Beth for a little while, I guess I'm okay with it but, Maker, I hope she hasn't set her sights on my brother. Why can't she pick on Anders? He can handle it. Oh, right. That wouldn't be a challenge, would it?_

Isabela shrugged. "As you like Hawke. Would you rather we talked about _you_?"

The pirate returned her attention to Fenris once more, much to Carver's disappointment. "I heard you spent last night in Hawke's bedroom. Care to share the details?"

Anders who had just taken a sip of water, choked and coughed, turning a deep shade of red.

Sofira shot him a withering stare.

_To the void with you, Anders! What else did you tell her? That when you found me I was lying on the floor, half naked?_

Fenris' voice behind her was professional, detached. "She was injured. It is my duty to tend to her needs."

Isabela's grin widened, "So you... tended to her needs then, did you?"

Sofira was mortified, but not for herself. Isabela was taunting Fenris like she taunted all men, but he wasn't all men. He was a slave. Sofira could only imagine how this must feel to him, targeted by a free woman as the butt of a joke. She wanted to throw something at the pirate.

Then it dawned on her that she herself was no better. Last night, she had murdered his master. What if Fenris had loved Danarius? What if he had served the Senior Magister all his life only to have his whole world thrown upside down in an instant by her act of vengeance?

And the way he had spoken to her. She remembered the vehemence in his voice, _"It is the only __reason you are still alive."_

Maybe he _had_ wanted to kill her. But instead, he had taken care of her, stayed with her all night. Had he slept at all? Come to think of it she hadn't seen him eat anything this morning either. The man was a slave. He probably thought he needed her permission for everything, even sleeping and eating. How could she be so thoughtless? She was an awful person.

"Isabela," Hawke said, groaning.

The pirate, unaware of the internal strugglings of her fearless leader, was having the time of her life, and she wasn't even naked or drunk. There was no stopping now.

"What?" Isabela asked, eyes wide. "Last night you killed a very bad man and acquired a fancy new mansion - which seems to have come with some rather _attractive_ benefits." She flashed a wicked grin as Hawke's cheeks flushed pink, taking the reaction as an admission of fact. "You mean to tell me that you _didn't_ celebrate by being flipped ass over tits and hammered like a bent nail?"

"ISABELA!"

Sofira wasn't sure if she, Carver or Aveline had yelled it first.

And that was the pirate's cue. "Fine! I'll be in my room. I have a novel to finish." She gathered up her things, refusing to look at anyone.

Isabela had mastered the art of milking a dramatic exit. She knew that all eyes were still on her so she took her time, eating one more bite of fish and licking the corner of her mouth, before sauntering out of the dining hall.

When the show was over, Anders stood up.

"I'll be going too," he said, avoiding Hawke's glare, "I think I saw a garden behind the house last night and I want to see if there are any useful herbs back there."

Merrill jumped up out of her chair.

"Oh, I'll come with you! That sounds like fun." She didn't even notice the pained expression on Anders face as she followed him, chattering about Dalish herbs.

Sofira sat stewing in guilt. She stabbed at a slice of tender boar but it had lost its taste.

_What can I say? I guess I should start with the obvious._

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she said over her shoulder.

"Do not concern yourself, Mistress," came the husky reply.

"Will you sit and eat something? You must be starving." She gestured to the empty chair next to her.

"I am not, Mistress."

_Not this again._ Hawke frowned. "I thought we agreed that you would stop calling—"

"Look at all this food," said Carver, patting his stomach. "I've never seen anything like this. Even I can't eat this much. Is it going to be like this _every_ morning? Oh, Maker, or every _meal_?"

His eyes bulged at the prospect.

Varric chuckled. "It sure beats the swill they serve over at The Grey Lady."

"If I were a slave and my new _owner_," Sofira pronounced the word with disgust, "had just sat down to her first meal, I'd sure pull out all the stops."

_They must be nervous, not knowing if I'll be better or worse than Danarius was._

An elven girl appeared and began to clear the used plates.

_Like this poor girl. She can't be more than eight years old._ Sofira leaned towards her. "Child? What is your name?"

"Dalenia, my Lady." The girl looked nervous. Her wide eyes flicked to Fenris.

"That's a pretty name," said Hawke, making her voice gentle and soothing. "Dalenia, would you please find Aran and ask her to come in here?"

The girl disappeared in a flash. A moment later, Aran bustled into the room. Upon seeing the amount of uneaten food still stacked in towers on the dining table, she stopped. "Mistress, was the meal not to your liking? I can have Tuela make you anything you like. We have—"

"No, Aran. We're finished. This was much too extravagant for breakfast."

The color drained from Aran's face. "I am sorry you didn't like it, Mistress. I will have it discarded immediately."

Hawke raised her eyebrows. "No, it was excellent it was just too much. Wait, 'discarded'? You're just going to throw it all away?"

Aran turned even lighter shade of pale. "I... no, my Lady. I meant..."

_Maker, but this woman needs a drink. Several drinks. And a long vacation._

Sofira held up her hands. "Aran, it's all right. Just, ask—Tuela is it? Ask Tuela to make about half this much next time unless she's cooking for the entire household. In fact, have you eaten, Aran? If not, please sit down and help yourself."

Aran looked as if she might pass out on the floor. "Oh no, Mistress. I would never."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

Fenris explained. "Danarius would never have let his slaves eat food of this quality, Mistress. He would have fed it to stray dogs first."

Sofira felt a burning in her stomach.

_A lot of things are going to change today. It might as well start now. _

She pushed back her chair and stood, moving out of the way and motioning to the seat with her hand, "Fenris, sit down and eat. Take two plates. If you're anything like my brother, one won't be enough. Strapping man like yourself needs energy. Go on, sit!"

To Aran she said, "Give the rest of this food to the household, to whomever is hungry. Make sure they get as much as they want. In fact, since the food is already here, just have them eat at this table today."

The housekeeper bowed, a look of bewilderment on her face. "If you are certain, Mistress."

"Yes, I am," said Sofira as she watched Fenris.

The elf removed his greatsword, resting it against the table with care, and lowered himself into his old master's chair.

Once he was seated, Sofira observed a most wonderful change occur in the taciturn warrior. As he surveyed the food choices on the table before him, a crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Deciding on the roast boar, he pulled the dish closer and sawed off a full third of the meat with a carving knife. He slid the steaming hunk of boar onto the plate in front of him, eyes round with anticipation. The meat overhung the sides of the plate, dribbling onto the linen tablecloth, but he didn't seem to care. Picking up Sofira's fork and knife, he tore into his breakfast.

"You're going to be popular here," commented Aveline, without looking up from her notes.


	5. Freedom

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

A/N: Ice cream cones of love to my betas: lotusflwr, Lywinis and Tom

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Freedom<strong>

* * *

><p>"You could simply go back to your house and get something to wear," suggested Aveline.<p>

"No time," said Sofira. "Aran is probably assembling the household as we speak. I just hope she allows them a decent meal first. The ones I've seen are all so thin, even the guards."

The two women stood in front of the Senior Magister's enormous and well-stocked closet, pulling out robes, tunics and leggings in an attempt to find Sofira more preferable attire. The big, grey robes she'd worn to breakfast now lay in a heap at her feet.

"Well, they _are_ elves, Hawke," remarked the warrior, "but I know what you mean. I do not get the feeling Danarius was a kind or generous master."

Aveline trailed off on that thought as she appraised her friend who wore naught but her small clothes. "If you don't mind me saying so, Hawke, you could use a little more meat on your bones as well."

The guardswoman knew from experience that Sofira was no shrinking flower despite her lithe frame, but since her sister's death, she'd gotten even thinner. It was worrisome. Understandable, but worrisome.

From somewhere on the massive bed came the whine of a mabari. He, too, had noticed a change in her.

"Bellator, hush! Aveline, you sound like my mother," Sofira grumbled as she tossed a robe over the changing screen that Aran had brought. "Next you'll be telling me to do something nicer with my hair and fretting that I don't spend enough time answering the calls of suitors."

That earned a snort from the guardswoman. "Oh no I _won't_! We both know I'm less adept at courtship than I am at fashion. And there I'm dreadful. A sturdy suit of armor is all I need."

She paused, pinching an edge of green cloth and drawing out its voluminous folds like a giant fan between them. Straightening the fabric revealed an intricate pattern of interwoven loops which seemed to serve no purpose other than to be complicated. She frowned. "Why _did_ you want my help? I know nothing about mage garments and I certainly wouldn't be caught dead in one of these dresses."

"They're called robes as you well know," corrected Sofira in mock-exasperation. "I asked because there aren't any mirrors in here and I wanted a woman's opinion. I wasn't about to ask Isabela."

Aveline smiled. "You didn't want your neckline to meet your hemline somewhere around the vicinity of your hips? I'm shocked."

Sofira cringed at the image. "I was hoping for something that would inspire a little more confidence in my abilities. Somehow, I don't think that would have the desired effect. Besides, you do have fashion sense. You designed those guard uniforms, back in Kirkwall."

"For functionality, Hawke. The old ones chafed by the end of the day and there was a weakness in the shoulders."

"Be that as it may, Aveline, they also looked sharp. I daresay your guards stood a little taller wearing them. Whether you know it or not, you do have good taste."

"If you say so, Hawke." The guardswoman pulled out a dark blue shirt made of a fine fabric. A cord of silver threaded through the cuffs and around the bottom. "How about this?"

Sofira slipped it on over her head. The length settled halfway between her waist and knees. It was comfortable if a little long in the sleeves. She held out her arms.

Aveline took her cue and pulled on the silver cords, tightening the cuffs, then tied them off and tucked the ends under.

"I think we found something," said the guardswoman, nodding her approval. Her eyes scanned the line of items still in the wardrobe. Then her gaze dropped. "Ah, here we are."

She picked up a pair of steel grey leggings that Sofira had tossed to the floor. "Try these."

Dutifully, the mage pulled on the leggings. Aveline cinched up the waist with a black silk belt pulled off another robe. The overall effect was quite nice.

"What do you think?" asked Sofira.

"It fits well."

"Aaaand?" prompted the mage.

Aveline sighed and shook her head. "All right, fine. Against your porcelain complexion, that blue is amazing and it compliments your dark hair and eyes."

Sofira laughed and threw her arms around the warrior. "See? I knew you had it in you!"

Bellator huffed and thumped his tail against the bed covers.

Aveline smiled, hugging her back. She had to admit it was fun doing girly things for a change. "Just don't expect me to give up my day job, Hawke."

Sofira pulled back. "Speaking of that, I want to hear your ideas later for improving security. If I can afford it, it will be done. Also, I'll want you to captain the guardsmen but ...be diplomatic. Work with Fenris on this for the time being. I'll need to see what he is capable of before I decide what exactly his role will—"

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them both. Sofira closed her eyes and cursed. Then she poked her head around the corner of the changing screen. Sure enough, there was her elven shadow, standing in the antechamber, eyes on the floor.

"I'm going to have to put a bell on you," she muttered under her breath. Her eyes widened as the flicker of a grin appeared on his lips and then disappeared. _He couldn't have heard that, could he?_

"Fenris, I thought I asked you to see to the guards," she said, embarrassed.

"Your men are fed and await you in the main hall along with the rest of your house, Mistress. When you are ready I will take you there."

"That's not necessary," she said stepping out from behind the screen. "I know where it is and have two escorts already."

Bellator barked and jumped down from the bed wagging his tail.

She noticed Fenris' demeanor shift in response, jaw clenching. "As you wish, Mistress." With that he strode out of the room.

"He thinks you're going to get rid of him," guessed Aveline.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," Sofira said raising her voice, hoping the retreating elf would hear her.

"Andraste's ass. I was _just_ starting to break through at breakfast. Now I've gone and messed it up."

"Relax, Hawke," said Aveline. "They've only just met you. You can't win them all over just like that. Give it time."

Sofira groaned and rubbed her forehead. "I can only imagine what they've been through. Aveline, _look_ at this place. Can't you just feel the oppression? Everything is the best of the best but it's ...I can't think of the right word. Twisted? Out of the hundreds of bodyguards Danarius probably had to choose from, he picked Fenris. Which means he's unequaled. But it also means he's been bludgeoned by Danarius' Hammer-of-Harshness-Plus-Tenfold."

"I get the feeling there's more to him than meets the eye." Sofira thought for a moment. "If nothing else, he's unique. I want to know more about him before I make any decisions that could affect all of us. Besides, what if he leaves after today?"

Aveline nodded, looking around the room at Danarius' furnishings and decorations. "If I were him, I would be tempted to put this place as far behind me as possible."

Sofira smiled, knowing her friend too well. "But _you_ would stay and try to make this a better place for your men. _You_ are too responsible to leave people behind when you know you could do better. I'll never forget what you did in Kirkwall. It must have been a difficult decision for you to come with me."

The warrior's eyes clouded for a moment. "In some ways, yes. Getting rid of that rat bastard Jeven was a big step forward. It was a lot of work, but by the time we set sail for Tevinter, the Guard was organized and well respected by the people again. Donnic has made more improvements since then. They're doing quite well."

"Aveline!" Sofira's eyes were bright with surprise. "You've been writing to him?"

She blushed a little and smiled. "Yes. After that awful excuse for a patrol out on the Wounded Coast, we talked and ...came to an understanding. It might have been more serious if I had stayed in Kirkwall, but who knows? Maybe some day. You know... he writes to me every week."

"You little minx, Aveline! Good for you! If you want to go back and see him, I'll completely understand."

"Not right now, Hawke, but it's nice to know the option is there."

"Always. Just because it's not for me doesn't mean my _friends_ shouldn't be madly in love."

Aveline's eyes wrinkled as she chuckled. "Oh don't count yourself out yet, Hawke. I think there's someone out there waiting for you. You just haven't discovered each other yet."

* * *

><p>Aveline, Carver and Varric joined Sofira for the inspection in the main hall. She counted twenty-six slaves.<p>

In addition to Aran, there was a second human, a short, heavily-boned older woman standing near two thin elven men. Her short, grey hair lay in tight curls like a cap over her scalp. Her small, birdlike blue eyes blinked at a spot on the floor. Sofira wondered if she heard a worm.

_Two humans. Don't bother yourself with that pesky Imperial law forbidding human slaves, Danarius. How did you get away with that?_

One tanned elf in the back of the group looked like he'd just been rolling in hay. Though he had combed his hair, he'd missed a seed head which was now sticking out from behind his ear. He also had a habit of compulsively shifting from foot to foot. She couldn't imagine the man being still for a second even when fast asleep.

Fenris stood near the guards, inscrutable, with a quiet readiness in his body that reminded Sofira of a wolf stalking its prey. She followed his eyes. He stared at his right foot. Since he wore no sabatons or any other covering over his feet, she guessed it was the white markings there that drew his gaze.

_Aveline was right. He's just waiting for the other shoe to fall and kick him out of here. How could anyone like that think himself replaceable? Now I want to kill Danarius all over again._

The other slaves had scrubbed their skin pink and put on what she assumed was their nicest clothing. Most of them stared at the decorative floor but a few threw furtive glances at their new mistress. None of these elves had the Dalish blood writing on their skin. From the expressions of cowish obedience they wore, she guessed they had been slaves since birth.

Aran had them come forward one by one, encouraging each to state their name and say a few words to their new mistress.

The birdish woman, Tuela, claimed to be trained by the best chefs in Orlais.

_That would explain the extravagant breakfast._

_Tuela pulled her kitchen helpers forward, patting them on the backs. They bowed multiple times, introducing themselves as Alaias and Remius but said nothing more. _

The shifty man with the hay in his hair was named Peyter. He spoke of his herbs and vegetables with devotion and invited Sofira to come tour the garden if it pleased her.

_Ah I should have placed him as a gardener right away!_

Oviana and Yulian were the chambermaids. Oviana was rather mouselike with brown hair and hazel eyes. Yulian was darker and a head taller than her peer but Sofira had to strain to hear her spoken name. They looked to be maybe fifteen years old.

Then came the guards, who each thanked Sofira for the bountiful breakfast with happy grins on their faces.

_I'll have to make sure Tuela feeds all of them better food from now on._

There were only two adult elves and five children left. The two adults came forward together. Something in the sinuous way they moved made Sofira uncomfortable. The woman was blond with pale blue eyes, and her breasts looked too large for an elf. The man was dark haired with bright blue eyes. His mouth was curled in a suggestive smirk. They identified themselves as entertainers, boasting a proficiency in many forms of dance, music and physical delights. Sofira's eyebrows shot upwards.

_No wonder there was something off about them, they're body slaves! _

She looked up at her brother who was standing to her right. He eyed the woman with obvious admiration until she elbowed him in the ribs.

"I am not running The Blooming Rose here," she whispered to him, "So don't get any ideas."

Lastly, Aran herded the children forward and rattled off their names. Their chores varied. Depending on what work needed to be done, they might help in the kitchen, in the gardens or with cleaning the many rooms. The oldest one was ten years old, the youngest six. It broke Sofira's heart just looking at them.

Once they had all returned to their places, Sofira took a step forward.

"It is a pleasure to meet all of you," she said, putting on a warm smile and opening her hands. "You must be wondering what will happen to you now that Danarius is gone. I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me. Where I come from, people do not own other people. And since I am now in charge of this estate, I am setting you all free."

She let this sink in for a moment as the little crowd of people looked around at each other with wide eyes then back to her. She cast a glance at Fenris and found he too looked a bit stunned. His green eyes focused intently on her as if searching for some evidence of deception.

_Of course he doesn't trust me. Why should he? _She smiled at him with what she hoped was a reassuring look.

"Please, do not think I am casting you out of the mansion. You may remain here if you wish but as my servants, not as my slaves. You will be treated more fairly and you will be given a monthly stipend to do with as you will. You will have rights just like anyone else. No one will ever treat you like a possession ever again."

"If you decide to leave, you have my blessing. Captain Isabela will give you passage on board her ship, The Siren's Promise, so you may seek your fortune elsewhere, in the Free Marches or Ferelden or some other land where slavery is illegal. Life will not be easy but it will be your own. She sets sail in ten days, so you have some time."

"I know this is sudden. You have much to consider. Take the rest of the day off to do whatever you like, but also think about what I have said. If you choose to stay here, let Aran know and return to your tasks tomorrow morning. If you choose to leave, let me know and I will make the necessary arrangements."

"Hawke," Aveline, standing on the other side of her, whispered, "I do not think it would be wise for newly freed elves to wander the streets of Minrathous."

Sofira understood her friend's point. Before anyone could wander off into danger, she added, "However, please do remain on the grounds. Here, I can protect you. I would not wish to see your new found freedom misinterpreted by other magisters."

"Good?" she whispered back to the guardswoman.

Aveline nodded.

_Well, time will tell if I have an empty mansion tomorrow or not. Time to get out of here and let them talk amongst themselves._

Half way to the door she heard, "Mistress! Please wait..." It was the housekeeper.

Sofira turned. "You no longer need to call me 'Mistress,' Aran."

"My Lady." Said the woman through a smile, eyes shining. "I ask to remain the keeper of your house, if you will have me."

"If that is your wish, I would be honored, but you've barely had any time to think about it," said Hawke with a note of reproach in her voice. "Are you sure you don't want more time to consider?"

"I am quite sure, my Lady."

"Very well. We will speak tomorrow, then, once we know who is staying and who is leaving." A thought occurred to her and she took the housekeeper's arm, speaking in hushed tones so only Aran could hear. "Could you... let the body slaves know that if they stay, they will be assigned new roles? We'll teach them gardening or weaving or something. I'm not against people selling themselves for sex, if that's what they really want to do, but I won't encourage it in my home."

Aran nodded, curtseyed and headed back to the liberated slaves who were observing the pair's exchange with great interest.

Sofira noticed that her elven shadow had followed her towards the exit as well. He hovered nearby looking pensive.

"Fenris?"

"A word with you, Mistress?" he said, his face a mask. His tone made it more a demand than a request.

"Fenris, you can stop calling me..." He had already gone past her and was out of sight before she could finish her sentence.

Carver's eyebrows raised.

"Well, I think that went fairly well," she said to her companions as they exited the main hall.

Fenris stood, waiting, in a doorway at the end of the corridor.

_How did he get down there so fast?_

Varric cleared his throat. He slapped one hand to his chest and extended his other arm like a bad stage actor. "Having freed the slaves of the once-powerful magister, our champion strode proudly from the grand chamber, feeling the grateful eyes of the crowd upon her!"

"What no dragons or fireballs raining down from the sky?" teased Hawke.

"Give me time, Hawke," said Varric, his tone earnest and full of confidence, "my stories are like a fine wine..."

"More like a pail of shit," scoffed Carver.

The guardswoman chuckled. "Well, as I said this morning, Hawke, you are going to be very popular around here. _Outside_ these walls however..." Aveline leaned her head to one side and took a deep breath. "You do like to stir up trouble. But I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Aveline," said Sofira, beaming at the praise, "And I am glad to have you by my side."

Carver rolled his eyes. "All right, I'm getting a toothache and you apparently have an appointment with a brooding elf. You'd think he'd be a little happier having just been freed from slavery."

"He does seem rather broody doesn't he?" said Varric, casting a sidelong glance at the figure down the hall.

"I can't imagine any of them had it easy living under the thumb of one of the most ruthless magisters in Tevinter. Who knows what kind of pent up feelings any of these people have," pointed out Aveline. "Be patient with them, Hawke. And cautious."

"I know," said Sofira, frowning. "We'll just have to try to make their lives better from here on out and hope it's enough. I'll see you all later."

"Just a minute, Hawke," Varric held up a hand. "As enjoyable as it was to sleep in a big, fancy bed, I should be getting back to The Grey Lady. My sources will know if there's going to be any aftermath from last night. That and I miss the ox piss they call beer."

Sofira nodded. "Okay, Varric, but be careful. I'd send a guard with you, but I just freed them all."

Varric patted Bianca, "That's okay Hawke. I have all the protection I need right here. But you're sweet to offer."

"I wouldn't know what to do without you," she said.

"Oh, I know, but it's good to hear you admit it," he grinned.

"Actually," said Sofira becoming more serious, "while you're talking to your contacts, could you find out about this Caius Noor that Aran mentioned last night, the financier? I'll need to pay him a visit soon."

"Consider it done," said the dwarf.

"Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me," she gestured at the waiting elf.

* * *

><p>"Do not free me, Mistress."<p>

"What?" asked Hawke, dumbfounded by his bizarre request. "You _want_ to be my slave?" She tried to read him but all she could gather was that he seemed tense and uncomfortable.

They stood just inside the doorway of a small armory. Halberds, swords and crossbows hung on the side walls. Long wooden boxes were stacked against the back.

"No. I..." His jaw worked as he tried to find the right words. At last he said, "You _should not_ free me, Mistress."

There was something he wasn't telling her but at this moment she was more irritated by his insistence on using that slaver title. "Fenris. Before we go any further, you must stop calling me 'Mistress'."

"But it is what you are, just as I am your property, M—" he stopped only because Sofira had put her fingers over his lips.

"Don't," she said, a warning in her voice.

His head pulled back from her touch as he regarded her in stubborn silence.

"You're rather willful for a slave, do you know that?" she said cocking her head.

Her only response was a piercing green stare.

_I wish I could understand you._ Sofira sighed and crossed her arms.

She studied his face until he looked away. Then she followed the markings on his neck and his tautly muscled arms. In addition to the lyrium lines there were tiny scars everywhere, some not so tiny. These imperfections did nothing to detract from his appeal, if anything it made him that much more interesting, but it did lead her to wonder about the details of his life_._

"Fenris, every time you or anyone else uses that title when addressing me, it is like a dagger through my heart."

He looked up again, eying her through a tress of white hair.

"Have you ever been outside of Tevinter?" she asked.

A single nod.

"Then perhaps you know what it's like for mages in other countries."

The elf did not respond. He just watched her, waiting.

"I grew up in Ferelden where mages are feared, not because we are powerful magisters but because the Chantry tells its flock that we are monsters, that demons rage in our bodies. No one even tries to understand us. It's like we are less than human. They just want to lock us all up and throw away the key."

"My mother is different from those ignorant wastrels. She gave up everything to be with a mage, my father, out of love." Feelings of pride over her mother's brave decision welled up inside her but this was not the time to dwell on it.

"In Ferelden, mages who live outside the Circle are apostates. The Circle is controlled by Templars whose duty is to imprison mages and make sure they do no harm. If a mage steps out of line they are made tranquil and stripped of their free will. Then they become docile, no more alive than a talking _plant_. It is cruel and barbaric... and as you might imagine, some Templars are worse than others. There are rumors of physical abuse, rape..."

Sofira unclenched her fists. _Just get on with it._

"To avoid being taken, we had to live outside of society, in tiny villages or in the forest. When we were older, we tried living in a larger town, but the Templars found us and killed my father."

She paused until she could speak without her voice shaking.

"We weren't bad people. Carver and I even joined the Ferelden army to help defend Ostagar against the Blight. But there was never a day that I wasn't looking over my shoulder, until I came to Tevinter. I _thought_ life would be better here and, in some ways it is, but certain types of people will always crave power. In Ferelden, it was the Chantry and the Templars. Here, it is the Circle and the magisters. People in power always want to oppress others for their own selfish ends."

Sofira's eyes were filled with resentment. "I don't ever want to be like that, Fenris. People should never be enslaved for any reason. People should be free."

Fenris growled, "You speak of dreams and illusions. Slavery is the natural way of things. If a man is born free, he will bind himself to a master of his own choosing. No one is free, Miss-"

He stopped himself this time, pressing his lips together.

"Maybe not," she admitted, "But I won't keep slaves and I will free as many as I can. Maybe one of their children will grow up and change the world. While I'm dreaming, I can hope that other magisters will see my example and decide it _is_ a better way. But I'm not as naive as you think. I am aware that my actions may not amount to anything. I can only make my own choices to do what I think is right because I _can't_ sit back and do nothing. It's what my father would want. It's what Bethany would want."

She had to stop because her throat had tightened around a lump of grief.

"I am sorry for your loss, my Lady."

Sofira had not thought to smile but it happened anyway. The new title and his sympathy seemed genuine. "Thank you, Fenris. And I am sorry for yours."

"Mine?" the elf's forehead furrowed. He regarded her with curiosity and, as he realized who she referred to, he felt his ears become hot. "Do you mean _Danarius_?"

"Yes."

Fenris' face twisted in sudden anger, "Danarius was a blight upon my very existence. He stole my life from me. Until last night, I had no hope for anything other than a violent death. You have taken nothing from me, my Lady."

Sofira swallowed. "Then, why do you wish to remain a slave?"

"I don't," he said, biting off the words.

"I'm sorry, Fenris. I'm trying hard to understand you but..." she shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.

The elf's forested gaze seemed to cut through her skin. "I owe you a debt that I can never repay. There is nothing for me outside of this, no family, no future, not even a memory of my life before. I have nowhere else to go."

"Fenris," Sofira leaned forward, "You have _everywhere_ else to go. You were chosen by Danarius, which means you must be highly skilled. There are men in Ferelden who would pay a fortune to hire a bodyguard like you. If you dislike the role of protector, you could adventure, be your own man and make a name for yourself. Or you could raise a family and lead a quiet life. It's not like _you_ will have Templars chasing you wherever you go. Your jailer is dead."

"Do not mock me, _my Lady._ I will bear the markings of a slave until the day I die. They are burned not only into my flesh but my very _soul_. This is all that I am. If I run, other magisters will come for me, to try and take me for their prize. I will never be free to chase these fantasies of which you speak."

She shook her head, bewildered by the venom in his deep voice and the finality of his conviction.

"I do not mean to mock you," she said in a small voice. "I just wish... "

But Fenris interrupted her, holding up a gauntleted hand. He turned towards the door to the hallway, alert, reaching for his greatsword.

_I didn't hear anything._

Then came the shrill scream of a child.


	6. Complications

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium

A/N: A heaping plate of cheesy fries to my betas: lotusflwr, Lywinis and Tom. This chapter is the first new chapter since I took the story down for edits. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Complications<strong>

* * *

><p>Sofira had barely the time to blink before Fenris stood out in the hallway, greatsword drawn, fixated on what she assumed was the source of the chilling shriek. Her stomach tightened with dread as she stepped out into the hall and turned.<p>

At the end of the corridor, near the entrance to the dining hall, was a vision of implacable brutality.

One of the chambermaids bent backwards, the crown of her head pressing into the wall, rigid arms sticking out from her body as if she were a poorly-made doll. Agony bent her fingers to unnatural degrees and contracted her youthful features in a now silent scream. Lines of blood trickled from her eyes and nose.

_Blood magic._

A thin human woman dressed in periwinkle blue robes held out her hand in front of the elven girl, fingers splayed, channeling some kind of spell. Sofira couldn't see her face; it was hidden by a curtain of shoulder-length black hair. Only the tip of a pointed nose protruded from behind the veil.

Coming to rest like a tossed coin, the stiff body of Sofira's mabari rocked on the floor near the chambermaid's feet, his limbs frozen in a running pose. She couldn't tell if he was dead or alive.

"Hadriana," came Fenris' voice beside Sofira, his deep timbre taking on a palpable hatred.

Sofira broke into a run.

Reaching forward with her right arm, Hawke's fingers vertically severed the space between the mage and the elven girl. Then she balled her fist, knuckles whitening, as the air rippled around her hand and gathered into an amorphous core. Straightening her fingers, she released the spell which charged through the air towards the blood mage with a piping whine.

At the sudden movement and the strange sound, Hadriana became aware of her audience. She turned, revealing a thin, arrogant smile. But her mouth reshaped into an O as the kinetic force struck her body, knocking her back away from her victim and slamming her into the opposite wall. The impact punched the breath from her lungs. Eyes pinched shut, she started to slide down the wall just as Hawke came within reach.

Snarling, Sofira reached down with both hands and grabbed Hadriana by the front of her robes, hauling the blood mage to her feet.

Hawke leaned, driving the woman up back against the wall once more, and brought her head within a hands length of Hadriana's pointy nose, observing all of the sharp corners which defined the woman's face.

The blood mage's eyes opened, revealing a slate blue color as cold as stone.

"You must be Magister Hawke," she coughed, trying to gather air as Sofira's fists pressed into her chest just under her collar bones. "Please let me explain! My name is Hadriana. I was Danarius' apprentice. I came—"

This was not the information Sofira sought. "I don't care if you are the Imperial Archon himself! Why were you attacking one of my people?"

"Mistress Hawke, I... I beg your forgiveness, I came to pay my respects and this _insolent_ little slut dared to speak back to me! I did what anyone would do." Hadriana's breathing was rough.

"Did you now..." said Sofira, her words sharp with sarcasm.

The blood mage's head bobbed.

Several house guards ran up from the other end of the corridor and from within the dining chamber.

"Mistress?" one said, seeking orders.

Just as the guards arrived, Carver, looking alarmed, appeared from the outer doorway and Aveline came tearing down the stairwell.

"Hawke, I heard the most awful shriek!" said the red-headed guardswoman.

They all stopped within a few feet, surveying the scene.

But Sofira's full attention was focused on the blood mage. "What exactly did this girl do or say that so offended you?"

Hadriana saw her chance at absolution and smiled with surety, as if they would all soon be sharing a pot of hot tea. "She was just standing there, Magister Hawke, talking to another slave like she had nothing better to do. So, of course, I told her to get back to work immediately. The drudge actually looked me right in the eyes and said "no". Can you believe the audacity? No doubt you will wish to punish her now."

Sofira flushed a deeper shade of red. She looked over her shoulder, catching Carver's eye.

"Brother, go find Anders and bring him here. Check the gardens. Hurry."

Carver nodded and disappeared.

Sofira turned back to the blood mage. "And the mabari?"

"That animal tried to attack me!" Hadriana's voice climbed to an indignant pitch.

Hawke's teeth ground together. Her upper lip twitched. "If I find out that you did any permanent damage to that girl or my mabari, I will peel you like a grape."

Hadriana stuttered, shocked by this unexpected response. "Y-yes, Magister Ha... _Mistress_."

"You have one minute to tell me why you came here," said Sofira.

"M-my name is H-Hadriana and I was Danarius' apprentice..." said the woman, slate blue eyes locked on fiery brown, trying to gather her thoughts in time to mollify her captor before the situation stretched any further beyond her control.

"Yes, you said that bit," said Hawke with a hiss.

"I ...heard about your duel with Danarius. Magister Trasaric spoke of you admiringly. He said you stormed in like a hurricane and then turned Danarius' treachery against him. He said you didn't even need magic to do it. He is in awe of you, Mistress Hawke, and, now that I have met you, I can see why."

Hadriana's voice began to calm, taking on a seductive quality, "I can tell you are as powerful as you are beautiful. I beg you to let me be your apprentice. Please... I am quite talented."

The blood mage licked her lips. "Danarius was very fond of me."

Sofira sneered, "Yes, I'm sure that's why you were not present at his dinner table last night."

She heard some of the guards shift and a reserved snicker from her elven bodyguard.

Hadriana's eyes snapped to Fenris. "Silence, cur! Or I swear this time I will—"

Her threats died in her throat as she was bounced off the wall. She grunted, feeling the bones of her spine strike the edge of a hard wooden panel.

"Look at _me_, Hadriana," Sofira warned.

"Forgive me, Mistress Hawke," she paused, wriggling in discomfort. An observation pulled her away from the pain. There was something odd about how this magister defended her slaves. Perhaps it could be used to her advantage, but first she'd need to confirm her suspicion. "I see you've kept Danarius' pet. He certainly has his uses, doesn't he? But the only way to keep him obedient is with a firm hand. I would be happy to show you."

"_You_ will not be the one to decide his fate, apprentice."

"Yes, Mistress. Anything you say." Yes, this magister acted as if her slaves were people, not property. She cared for them. This weakness could be exploited.

Hadriana's voice became buttery as she looked into Hawke's eyes. "You are a kind woman, a generous mistress. Danarius was so cruel. I am... not as strong as you. He made me do terrible things, Mistress Hawke. I didn't want to but I could not resist him. If _you_ were to accept me, I know I could be a better mage, a better person. Won't you give me that chance?"

Her hands wandered upwards to touch the backs Hawke's fists, drawing soft little circles with her fingertips. The blood mage smiled. "Please, please, accept me. You may be my only hope for salvation. I would do anything to study under such a compassionate and brilliant woman as yourself. _Anything._ I swear you will not regret it."

The tic on Sofira's upper lip was back. She was _not_ an idiot.

Disgusted, she released the scheming, would-be apprentice and pushed her towards the door. "Your minute is over, Hadriana. Get out. If I want you, I will summon you. I do not wish to see you before then."

Hadriana answered in a breathy voice. "Yes, Mistress. I will eagerly await your call. It was an honor to meet you. Thank you, Mistress."

As Hawke watched Danarius' pupil slither out the front door, she heard the sound of footsteps running up behind her. She whirled around to see Carver returning with Anders and Aran in tow.

"Hawke, are you all right?" gasped the mage, his eyes scanning Sofira's body from head to toes searching for any signs of injury, "Carver said someone was hurt."

Aran's hands flew to her face, covering her mouth. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Yulian, the chambermaid, slumped on the floor, blood running down her face and spotting the top of her blouse.

"Oh, I see!" said Anders, kneeling down to examine the girl.

"Who _was_ that mage?" asked Carver.

"A real bitch," said Aveline, raising her eyebrows.

"An apprentice of Danarius, no one of consequence," Sofira responded, chuckling at the guardswoman's succinct description and noting a pained expression pass over Fenris' face. She knelt between Bellator and the elven girl, Yulian. "Are they all right?"

Anders wore a relieved smile."Your mabari is fine, he's just stunned. Right boy?"

He waved an upright palm over the dog, who shuddered and relaxed as the spell faded.

Bellator got to his feet, shook himself and took a hobbling step closer to the blond mage. With his broad tongue he proceeded to bathe Anders' face.

"Yes, that's quite enough of that," said the handsome mage, pushing the dog away. "Ugh. Next time you want to show your thanks just bring me a dead mouse or something like a normal pet."

"Come here boy," said Sofira, giving the animal a big hug. Then she pointed at the elf girl and asked, "What about Yulian?"

Anders was already gathering the girl in his arms. As he stood, he said, "Our young friend here has suffered more serious damage. I can heal her but she'll need a couple of days to rest and recover. Where should I take her?"

Sofira looked at Aran.

The grey-haired housekeeper gestured to the stairs, "This way, Sir Mage. She can have my room on the second floor. She'll be very comfortable there."

As Anders followed Aran up the stairs, carrying his patient, Sofira spoke to the others who still milled about in shock. "Everyone go back to whatever you were doing. The excitement is past."

"I'm going to walk the grounds again, now that it's daylight. There may be details that I missed," said Aveline. "Perhaps we can speak later about security?"

Sofira nodded. "Carver, you and I should talk as well."

As the guardswoman left on her errand, the others wandered away one by one, except for Fenris.

Carver looked up, concern tightening his forehead. "What about?"

The elven bodyguard turned away and took a few steps down the hall to give them some semblance of privacy.

"We've barely said two words to each other these last few days. I just thought you might want to talk," she said, being careful not to mention Bethany as she slid her fingers under Bellator's collar to scratch at his flattened fur.

The animal leaned into her, panting and happy. She suddenly felt so alone.

In a disapproving tone, she added, "You don't seem to have any trouble finding things to say to Isabela."

"Sister, don't," Carver screwed his eyes shut and raised his hands, creating a wall between them. "I don't need you mothering me or badgering me or whatever else you had in mind. Okay? If this is really about how I'm holding up, I'm fine."

"Obviously," she said, responding to the hostility in his voice. Regret flooded her heart but it was too late.

"Keep your opinions to yourself." Carver stomped out of the mansion.

She stared into the empty space where he had stood, memory outlining his shape, as she absentmindedly rubbed Bellator's fur.

_What's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be there for him, supposed to be the supportive older sister. Instead I turn into The Bitch Queen. So what if he likes Isabela? She's smart and funny, wise in her own way, and she has a good heart I think. Actually, she's probably perfect or him right now. She won't take his affections seriously and she might be just enough of a distraction to get him through this loss. She's a lot better than those whores down on the docks. _

_I almost wish I had someone like that right now. Not that I could just screw my pain away but it might be worth a try. Ugh, Maker's balls... my life... _

Bellator whined and nuzzled her cheek with his wet nose.

"At least I have you, boy." She patted him and his rubbed his ear between her fingers as she came to a standing position.

Looking around, she noticed Fenris pacing half-way down the hall. She was starting to get used to the way he stood in a kind of feral crouch, always ready for an attack. She thought about the scars on his skin, the lyrium embedded in his flesh. How much more had he endured during his life as a slave?

_I have no reason to complain. My life is fine indeed compared to some._

She leaned down to the mabari and whispered in his ear. "Bells, where's Aveline? Do you want to help her guard? Yea? Okay! Go on, boy!"

The guard dog took off like a shot.

Sofira sucked in a deep breath and then let it all rush out with a sigh.

"So. Hadriana is fun," she said in a loud voice.

Fenris turned and regarded her with all seriousness. "You have no idea, my Lady."

Hawke squinted at him. "Then tell me about it. I take it she's a regular presence here?"

"Yes," he said, walking towards her. "She covets Danarius' power and his belongings. She often took it upon herself to run the house when he wasn't here. And when he wasn't looking."

Hawke caught his meaning. "I see."

He stopped just outside of arm's reach, a distance known instinctively from years of combat.

She waited for a moment but the elf didn't seem to have anything to add. "Fenris, I want you to know that I'm not even considering taking her on as an apprentice. I knew her for five minutes and feel like I need a bath. The woman is a serpent."

Her bodyguard inclined his head in agreement. "You are perceptive, my Lady."

"What did she mean when she said 'I swear this time I will'?"

Fenris grimaced.

"I am one of the belongings she covets. She likes to pretend that it is she who owns me. When she was here, she would give me tasks to perform. Sometimes they contradicted Danarius' orders but if I disobeyed her, she would use her magic to cause me pain. Even when I tried to please her, she would torment me at every turn, ridiculing me, denying my meals, hounding my sleep. Because of her status as Danarius' apprentice, I was powerless to respond and she knew it. Hadriana always said that one day, I would be hers and that, on the day I died, she would be the last thing I saw."

Sofira swallowed. In a soft voice, she said, "She will never have you, Fenris. Those days are over."

She took a step forward, which he mirrored in opposite direction, maintaining his distance.

"Fenris, I would never hurt you. I only want a better life for you, for all of you. I don't expect you to trust me but I hope that you will come to in time."

His green eyes seemed to carve a path straight into her soul.

Sofira was the first to look away.

"I get the feeling Hadriana might try to stir up trouble for us. I want you to tell me everything about her, her associations, where she lives, but," Sofira looked to the stairwell, "right now, I want to check on Yulian. Come with me?"

* * *

><p>Finding the room wasn't difficult. Sofira could hear Anders speaking in soft, soothing tones.<p>

She peeked in.

He was seated on the bed next to the girl, whose eyes were now open and watching Anders with an unmistakable glow of infatuation. The blood had been cleaned off her face and she looked much better though her breathing was shallow and forced.

Hawke rapped lightly on the door frame. "Hey."

Anders looked up and, seeing Sofira's face, smiled like he had just won a game of cards.

"Hawke!" He stood and moved towards the door. "She's going to be fine, but she should sleep."

Sofira stepped back to let him pass.

He stepped into the hallway and saw she wasn't alone. The blond scowled at her bodyguard. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Fenris straightened, eyes narrowing. "No."

The mage sighed, undeterred, and reached out to take Sofira's hands, pulling her away from her elven shadow.

"If you have some time now, perhaps I could show you the gardens?" Anders asked, his voice low. He looked into her eyes. "They really are quite stunning."

Her breath caught in her throat. He was giving her that look again. "I... just came to check on Yulian. Thank you for taking care of her."

"Of course! I'm glad I was here to help." He smiled, ducking his chin to catch her gaze when she looked away. "Hawke, come on. Come with me. You should see the herbs your gardener is growing. It's amazing what he's done. Three kinds of heatherum! Until today, I'd only known of two..."

_Be an adult. You can't ignore him forever._

"Okay, Anders," said Sofira, a weak smile flashing across her lips.

Withdrawing her hands, she turned to the elf. "Fenris, I want you to take the rest of the afternoon off. Think about our earlier conversation, okay?"

The elf 's jaw muscles flexed. His eyes flicked to Anders and back to Sofira. "My place is by your side, my Lady."

Sofira crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll be fine."

He bowed his head. "If you command me to go, I will attend to my duties elsewhere."

"If you must, but then go do something _fun_ or at least catch up on your sleep, okay?" She could tell he didn't like this arrangement.

Fenris nodded, turned and was gone.

Anders chuckled as the bodyguard disappeared down the stairs. In a deeper voice he said, "Mistress? What is this... fun of which you speak? I don't understand."

Laughing at his own joke, Anders shook his head. "I doubt he's ever met anyone like you before."

"Well, it's mutual then," said Sofira, jumping to the elf's defense, wanting to wipe the superior smile off Anders' face. It worked. But before he could respond to her comment, she changed the subject.

"Show me those gardens?"

* * *

><p>She spent the rest of the day with Anders, much to his delight.<p>

Once they reached the gardens, Peyter came out to greet them, repeating his welcoming phrases several times in a raspy voice. He gave them an extensive tour.

Sofira was impressed by how well-organized and diverse the gardens were. They viewed the collection of herbs first. As he shifted from foot to foot, Peyter pointed out certain rare herbs that he had taken the time to grow for Danarius at the magister's request. Then, he went off on a tangent describing all of the plants they could expect to find in this garden which could not be grown anywhere else in Minrathous, due to a special imported soil and the right combination of fertilizers.

After a 'move along' cough from Anders, Peyter continued with his tour, guiding them through beds of various root vegetables and squashes. He presented a short trellis covered in red tomatoes, opened the fragrant mushroom shed for their inspection, and then showed them to the hayberry patch. Lastly, he took them to six tall apple trees and pulled down a branch so they could see all the perfect flower buds nestled in between the leaves.

Once the tour was over, they sat on the grass in the shade, sharing a loaf of bread and slices of cheese. The gardener chatted away, pointing out what herbs and produce would be coming available over the next month. Sofira was excited by the prospect of fresh-picked apples but he warned her it would be two months for those.

Throughout their time together, Anders was a complete gentleman and Sofira remembered why they were such good friends. He asked intelligent questions. He treated Peyter as a scholar and an equal. He also surprised her by requesting that Peyter grow irises the following year as it was her favorite. Sofira couldn't help but smile at him, wondering how he had ever remembered, and gave him a quick little hug.

The mage's eyes twinkled as he took another mouthful of cheese.

They were all having such a lovely time, they didn't realize the light was fading until the swollen red sun settled behind the stone walls surrounding the property. Peyter's closing comment was that he had no intention of leaving his beloved gardens, no matter his status. Sofira gladly welcomed him as her second official slave-to-servant convert after Aran.

* * *

><p>In the dining hall, they rejoined their other companions for the evening meal.<p>

Sofira noticed that Varric was back. He was sitting next to Merrill, feasting on a leg of lamb. Far be it from him to miss a gourmet meal, especially a free one.

When Anders thought Sofira wasn't looking, he grinned obnoxiously at Varric. The dwarf graciously rewarded his blond friend with a nod of approval and a raised mug.

Merrill even managed to have a complete conversation with Anders without his slinking away, so elevated was his mood. Varric seemed interested in their conversation as well, despite the weighty subject of how to balance herbal concoctions for the greatest benefit. The dwarf chipped in comments here and there, though they mostly pertained to what herbs he thought might make for good ale. Anders did not seem opposed to the idea.

Isabela emerged from her suite about halfway through super, announcing the completion of her latest novel. Carver asked if he could borrow it, to which the pirate arched an eyebrow and offered to read it to him personally as she reached for a decanter of wine. He blushed but, for the first time, didn't stutter a lame response or change the subject. He simply said that he might take her up on it. The dusky pirate looked pleasantly surprised.

Sofira, overhearing their exchange, placed a hand over her face and slumped in her chair until Aveline asked if she was interested in going over the security plans. Sofira nodded, grateful for the distraction, and the two friends spent the rest of the meal discussing construction and guard schedules.

When Bellator rested his head on Sofira's lap and looked up at her with big, brown eyes, she and Aveline decided he would do well to help guard the property and the mabari was added to the schedule. It was also agreed upon that he would help train the men as he had in Kirkwall. To that end, he would sleep in Aveline's room so that she could bring him with her on early morning rounds.

After dessert, they all indulged in a few games of Wicked Grace. Everyone was in such a happy temper, they even let Carver win a hand.

* * *

><p>Sofira opened the enormous door to her bedchamber with one hand on the latch and one covering her eyes.<p>

_If there's anyone left tomorrow, I'm going to have them take down every bit of hideous 'art' and this bloody door is going to be the first thing to go. Some baby-eating troglodyte is going to be dancing for joy when all this nastiness comes up for sale at auction. On second thought, maybe I'll just burn the worst of it._

She walked through the small antechamber into the larger room, fingers pulling at the sash Aveline had knotted with such adept skill.

_I hope I can figure out how she did this._..

Fenris stood up from a chair to the left of the door.

"Aaaaahhhhhh!" Sofira jumped, vocalizing her surprise as sparks popped off her fingertips. "Seriously, I'm buying you a bell! What are you _doing_ here, Fenris?"

"You ordered me to sleep when I was done with my duties, my Lady." He spoke with hesitation, eyes on the Tevinter carpet at his feet. His sword rested against the other chair, firelight reflecting off its flat surface.

Sofira's eyebrows raised along with her voice. "And you decided to do it _here_?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Is there something you're not telling me?

"Many things, my Lady," the elf admitted, his expression impassive.

Her heartbeat was returning to normal. "Okay, well, at least you're honest about it, but why did you come _here_, Fenris?"

"This is where I sleep."

She shook her head. "Why? Don't you have your own room?"

Fenris glanced up, as if surprised she would ask such a thing. "I am a slave, my Lady. Nothing is my own. And I would not be an effective bodyguard if I did not protect my master at night when he was at his most vulnerable."

"Firstly, you are not a slave any longer. Secondly, that doesn't make any sense. If you protected him all day and at night, when did _you_ sleep?" Sofira had a feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.

"I do not require much rest and there were always a few hours here or there when Danarius did not require my presence. At night I am... a light sleeper."

Sofira stared. _I could never be a slave. _"So you just... sleep in that awful chair?"

"Usually, my Lady, yes."

The conditional response was not lost on her and she had to stop her thoughts from running to a bad place. She didn't want to know, didn't _need_ to know. To occupy her mind, she looked around the room for any reasonable alternative.

"Well, I can't say I haven't slept on the ground before or even in chairs but..." Sofira considered the reclining chair but it was much too short for him. The floor might work if he were given a mattress and a pillow but the man wasn't a dog. The floor wouldn't do. Her gaze strayed to the largest piece of furniture in the room, the massive bed, which she hadn't yet slept in herself. It felt wrong that she should have so much when he had nothing, "...wouldn't you prefer something more comfortable?"

Fenris followed the direction her eyes had taken. He raised a dark eyebrow.

She looked back at him. "Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed?"

The elf's face fell to shadow as he turned away from the firelight. His voice became hard. "No, my Lady, I would _not_."

Sofira's eyes widened as she realized what she'd implied. "Oh! No, no, no! That's not what I meant! Of course not _this_ bed, don't be absurd. I would never..."

Fenris lifted his head enough that she could see a darkening on his cheek. His jaw looked tight.

_Now I've sexually harassed him **and** insulted him. Excellent._

She tried again. "Uh, I didn't mean that I wouldn't... it's not that you aren't... I mean, I imagine you'd be quite..."

The elf angled his face towards her, anger fading to something more like curiosity.

Sofira stared at him, drowning in embarrassment, unable to look away from the forest green eyes peering at her from beneath a curtain of snow white hair. "I'm just going to let this subject crawl off and die along with my dignity. Let's talk about something else."

"That would be for the best, my Lady."

She took a deep breath and walked over to the edge of the bed. Almost sitting, she thought better of it and moved to the corner where she could lean against a post. But, that was too awkward with the sharp, carved vines sticking into her skin. She tried to use her elbow to prop herself against it, but finding a smooth surface proved difficult. There was only one spot at shoulder height near the edge of the post and, as soon as she put her weight onto it, she slipped. Catching herself, Sofira folded her hands together and stared into the fire, mostly to avoid looking at her elven guard.

She took a deep breath and let her lips vibrate together. This wasn't going well. _Say something, you idiot!_

"What's your favorite color, Fenris?" she said, daring to look at him once more.

"What?" He was staring at her mouth, a bemused expression on his face.

"Do you have one? A favorite color?" she asked.

He straightened and looked away. "No, I do not concern myself with such frivolities, my Lady."

"So, not pink then?" she joked, hoping for a laugh. It would have worked with Bethany.

_Oh, that's an award-winning glare. Perfectly withering! Very nice._

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." It was clear to Sofira that, if she kept talking, it was only going to get worse, if that were even possible.

"I think I'm going to turn in now," she said.

"As you wish, my Lady." He sounded relieved.

They both went about their own rituals, Sofira less sure of hers due to her unfamiliarity with the room. She washed her face in the crystal basin, grateful once again for its refreshing coolness. Stepping behind the changing screen, she undressed and slipped on the long, off-white shift that Aran had chosen for her the night before. It was indeed as soft as a child's skin, although she immediately wished for a less repulsive comparison.

Fenris settled into his chair as she pulled back the heavy blankets and climbed into the gigantic bed.

She stared at the blood red drapery overhead and pictured Fenris in that chair, upright against the rigid gilded surface, trying to get to sleep. It nagged at her that she was allowing this boorish practice to continue despite his seeming acceptance of it.

She climbed out of bed, grabbed a pillow and pulled off the top blanket. Next to the bed, on the hearth side, she folded the blanket into lengthwise quarters to form a padding and laid it on the floor. Pressing it with her hand, she noted that it was thick enough to provide some cushioning. Then, she set the pillow at one end.

"If you want them..." she said, gesturing at the makeshift bed, wondering if he would use them and if she were doing the right thing. "Good night, Fenris."

She climbed back into bed without looking at him.

"My Lady."

* * *

><p><em>She's saying his name.<em>

_Fenris._

_Her voice sounds so sweet in his ears._

_Then, she is straddling his waist. Delicate fingers pull at his armor._

_He asks, "My Lady, what are you doing?"_

_She says, "You can't sleep like this, Fenris. Wouldn't you prefer something more comfortable? Take this armor off."_

_He only needs to think for a moment because he can't remember why he thought it was a bad idea before. "As you wish."_

_This feels right. For once, there is no fear, no pain. The way she looks at him, as a man, not as a slave... he wants this._

_She releases the catch of his breastplate while he pulls off his gauntlets. He begins to unbuckle his armor but he's distracted by how her hair falls over the side of her face._

_He reaches up and brushes back those long dark strands. Her hair feels like silk between his fingers._

_She opens his leather tunic and rests her warm palms against his chest._

_He feels the ends of her hair tickling his skin._

_Her eyes, framed by long, black eyelashes, look up at him. His heart races as those eyes change from dark brown to the color of warm honey as they reflect the firelight._

_Her pale skin flushes from the heat of flames. Or is it a result of his stare? Perhaps he should look away but he is fascinated by her full, red lips. They're parted in a way that makes him want to touch them, to feel their softness. He wants know what she tastes like._

_He slides his hands upwards along the supple skin of her arms and she bends down to rest her body on his. Wrapping his arms around her, he can feel her shape pressed against him, her round breasts, her smooth belly, her thighs at his sides. It causes his stomach to ache in an unfamiliar way. Somewhere between thirst and pain is this strange discomfort. He can't get enough of it._

_He hears his name again on her lips and the ache grows into a desperate sense of needing her. She's right here, the need driving her too. She is waiting for him to..._

His eyes open. It's dark. There are only subtle sounds, the prickling of coals cooling in the hearth, a soft breathing and a tiny movement through cloth. It's her in Danarius' bed. She is alone, asleep. It wasn't real. And yet, it is real.

_Venhedis! _

He rolls onto his side and tries to go back to sleep, wanting, for once, to forget rather than to remember.


	7. Steps Forward, Steps Back

_THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><em>Characters_: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><em>Setting_: Tevinter Imperium_

_Thanks__: Foot massages to my betas: lotusflwr, Lywinis and Tom._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Steps Forward, Steps Back<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I should not have slept on the floor. It softened my mind. Or perhaps it was the food. I have heard that rich food gives one strange dreams.<em>

It was the quiet hours just before dawn. The near-silent padding of Fenris' bare footsteps on the hallway carpet punctuated the stillness as he paced back and forth outside Hawke's bedroom door. Ever since the dream, he had been unable to sleep, disturbed by the vision of her and the feelings it stirred within him. He never remembered his dreams for more than a few seconds after waking, and that was a mercy, but this one still burned in his mind's eye like a stained glass window illuminated by the sun. He could still see the exact color of her eyes, still hear her voice breathing his name, still _feel_... the more he thought about it, the more difficult it was to pace without discomfort.

_Venhedis! She is a mage, a magister, my mistress. It is unthinkable. _

_Why am I thinking of it at all?_

Images of Danarius rutting with his body slaves came unbidden, the only intimacy Fenris could remember being that which he'd been forced to witness while guarding his master. The old man's body, his disgusting grunts and his sadistic tendencies should have been enough to put Fenris off to the act forever. They had certainly been until now.

And that bitch Hadriana, for all her insults toward him, had ordered him to relieve her more than once. On his knees before her, he'd quite literally had her ultimatum shoved in his face. Refusal had been costly but it was preferable to bear the pain than to give in to her demands and have to live with himself afterward. Eventually, she'd stopped offering any alternative and simply pleasured herself to his screams as he writhed in the grip of her magics.

So how could he even have these thoughts now, especially about another human mage? Had he not been tormented enough? Was he so broken that he needed to invent his own tortures in the absence of cruelty? He felt betrayed by his body. All magisters, without exception, were depraved and ruthless, just waiting to trade their greedy, black souls for demonic power. The evidence was everywhere, it coated this city like a soot that would never wash off, not in a thousand rainstorms.

But _she_ wasn't like them.

He had only known Mistress Hawke for a day and already the contrast was clear. Where they had desired power and control, she offered freedom and choice. Where they had inflicted pain, she had enabled healing. Where they had taken everything away, she had done nothing but provide. Fenris thought of how she'd given him her seat at the dining table and made a bed for him with her own hands. He was fascinated by these kindnesses, partly because he had never seen them before and partly because they were given to someone so far beneath her. She was the antithesis of Danarius and Hadriana. Or so it seemed.

Perhaps this was just another dream. It would not surprise him. In fact, he rather expected to wake up any second, on the floor, covered in his own blood. It was the cycle of his life. Try hard to please his master but fail in some small way... or be tricked into failure by Hadriana. Danarius would get that glint of excitement in his eye and take out his whip, magic being too good for a disobedient little wolf. As the first lash fell, Fenris would try to think of other things, anything remotely pleasant, sunlight on his face, food. The more blood Danarius drew, the more Fenris' mind would wander. He would invent pasts for himself, hoping that one would trigger a real memory. But in the end, he would always wake up on the floor, covered in blood, no closer to an answer.

He was awake now but he still could not believe that Mistress Hawke was real. She didn't act like any other magister he'd ever met. What magister would free her slaves? The story of her past had been moving but certainly she understood the futility of her cause.

And the way she'd gone after Hadriana! He pictured in his mind how Mistress Hawke had held that boney bitch down and threatened to peel her like a grape. His pulse quickened.

No one was this good. It could not possibly be real. Perhaps it was an act to lull them into serving her like fawning lapdogs. But then, why free them? Why offer to give them coin and passage to another land? Was it a test? Or a vicious trick? Was she waiting to see who would accept so that she could punish them? That _was_ something Danarius might do but Fenris had read no deception in the mistress' eyes.

Thinking of her warm, brown eyes, the rest of the dream came back and, for a moment, she was in his arms again.

_No. That dream is a slow poison. Do not think such things._

It was not possible. And it was clear she did _not_ desire him. She'd been disgusted by the very thought of having him in her bed... he'd read it on her face. How could he have been so stupid, so arrogant, as to think her question had been an proposal? No one in their right mind desired the touch of a disfigured freak. Her discomfort afterward as she tried to avoid him in every way - that had been even worse. The placating phrases she'd been unable to finish echoed in his long ears, the very thought of him in that capacity must have been too repulsive to bear. Bitterness coated the inside of his mouth. He scraped his tongue along his teeth, trying to remove the flavor, as he remembered the awkward little dance she'd performed trying to put distance between them. And the gibe regarding his preferred color. Pink? Is that how she saw him? No, she did not want him in the slightest. She felt sorry for him and that was all, Danarius' poor, scarred, elven dog. It was pity she offered him, not equality, and certainly not affection.

No, she would only be with her own kind, another human mage, like that abomination she was so fond of, Anders. Just thinking of the man's smug, stubbly face caused Fenris to grind his teeth. Picturing the two of them together was sufficient to drive away any tenderness he felt for her.

Mistress Hawke knew of the demon, she had to, and still she kept the monster close. Did she think to control it? Was she that naive? No, it was more likely that she didn't care. Perhaps she wasn't as different from the other magisters as she seemed if the lure of the demon drew her to him. And, if this were so, it was only a matter of time before she became another Hadriana.

That rang true. Here, in this corrupted city, how could it be any other way? She had already managed to become a magister so the yearning for power that they all shared must be inside her. None of them could resist it. Yes, all the pieces were in place. He'd figured it out. She was the type of magister who started off with good intentions, but, within a year, she'd be conspiring with the rest of them. It was inevitable.

Unfortunately, it made no difference. No matter what would come, his place was by her side. He still owed her far more than he could ever repay.

Another revelation hit him: _it had all been for nothing_. If only Danarius and the others had known this before they—

The door latch lifted and Mistress Hawke stepped out of her darkened chambers into the morning light. She looked tired. Was it so late already? He'd been aware of the coming dawn but now the dark wood of the hallway was striped with beams of bright, golden warmth.

"Fenris? Are you alright? I woke up and you were not in your chair... or anywhere. Did you sleep well?"

So, her first thoughts this day had been of him. Void take her. He didn't want her pity! It was worse than the degrading way Danarius paraded him like a prize beast. At least Danarius had shown some pride in his slave's abilities. It was worse than the way Hadriana coveted him, tormented him. At least she had wanted him. Magister Hawke simply felt sorry for him.

The idea of it sat like a gremlin in the hollow of his chest, scraping its cracked and dirty claws along his bones. Did he have nothing she wanted?

"Well enough, my Lady." It was an obvious lie if one were paying attention.

"That's good." She wasn't.

A yawn overtook her and she closed her eyes, rubbing them with her fists like a child.

He took the opportunity to control his thoughts. It helped to see his mistress there, mouth wide, eyes ground shut, looking very much the fool. At this moment, he was having a hard time imagining her turning into another Hadriana, although the thought of seeing _that_ bitch wear such a ridiculous expression curled the corners of his lips. He averted his gaze. As his eyes dropped, he noticed that Mistress Hawke wore the same dark blue chemise from yesterday.

It was inside out. He'd seen Danarius wear it enough times to know the difference.

Though it would be a small thing, here at least was a chance to make himself somewhat useful. Perhaps she would even be grateful if he saved her from an embarrassment in front of her companions. It was a step.

"My Lady..."

"No, let me go first, Fenris, please," she said, recovering from her yawn.

_Go first?_ "My Lady?"

"I want to apologize for my behavior last night."

_Ah, that._ "No need, my Lady. You—"

"No, I was wrong. I made you uncomfortable and I think I may have insulted you. I would never use my station to take advantage of you and I don't discriminate against elves. Some of my dearest friends are elves. Well, and dwarves too, so you see I really didn't mean to say what I think I may have said. I'm sorry."

"My Lady, perhaps you would care to step back inside?"

Now it was her turn to give him a quizzical look.

"Your shirt. It is inside out."

She inspected her sleeves. "Oh. Thank you, Fenris."

He nodded.

As she pushed the door to her chambers open once more and walked back inside, she said over her shoulder, "So, it is a new day, your first day of freedom. Have you thought about what you will do now? If you need more time, I understand."

He followed.

"Nothing has changed, my Lady." _Except that now I know you and what you will become._ "My debt to you is too great to ever be anything other than your slave."

She stopped almost to her changing screen, one arm pulled inside her shirt, and turned back to face him.

"That is not acceptable... damn it, my belt." She slipped her arm back inside the sleeve and then, as she untied the knot at her waist, "Fenris, I'm serious. If you cannot accept my terms, you cannot stay here. I will not keep slaves."

She shot him an I'm-not-messing-around glance and moved behind the screen.

Fenris wavered. If she did wish him gone, perhaps he should just leave. But then he would have no home, no purpose, _and_ no honor. That was not acceptable to _him_. He would repay her for everything, for his debt and for her kindness, even if it stemmed from pity. He would find a way.

"Then call me your servant but I will not take payment from you."

He heard her sigh, saw her fingers appear over the top of the screen as she took off the navy chemise, turned it and placed it back over her head.

Finally, she spoke. "I do not understand you, Fenris."

She walked out from behind the curtain and fixed her almond eyes on him. He found himself trying to stand a little taller.

"But I don't want to lose you either. If you will not take coin, I will find a way to compensate you that you can accept." Her stomach growled. "Though I think right now we should eat something. Will you join me?"

* * *

><p>It was a smaller group in the dining hall today. The friendly, beardless dwarf was gone again and the pirate whore was missing. His mistress' brother and her friend, the warrior woman, were engaged in conversation at one end of the table. They seemed to have left their weapons in their rooms. No, the woman's sword rested on the arm of her chair.<p>

Next to them, the Dalish mage and the demon were talking. Well, she was talking and he seemed to be in pain. He suddenly liked the Dalish mage a little more. Neither of them had their staves.

Mistress Hawke joined the four as a round of greetings peppered the air. Her mabari, Bellator, left Aveline's side and spun in circles around his mistress, panting and happy. She patted him and he stopped to lick her cheek as she cooed into his ear.

"Where's Isabela?"

"She went back to The Siren's Promise to start getting the ship ready for travel," said Carver.

"I see."

An unpleasant look passed between them.

Mistress Hawke pulled out the seat next to her brother and then gestured to the one beside it, looking at Fenris expectantly. She wanted him... to what? Sit with _them_? He cast his gaze to the faces of her companions and caught a welcoming smile from the Dalish mage. He couldn't remember her name but he nodded to her. The others seemed neutral on the subject, except for Anders, who flashed an irritated glare in Fenris' direction as he picked at his food.

_Does my presence bother you, demon? Good._

"Fenris," Magister Hawke was sitting now, waving him closer.

As he approached she said, "I realize this might feel strange to you but we have many things to discuss today and I need your counsel. So, please, you are among friends. Sit and eat with us."

_You are not my friends, and I am not your fool._

But he was hungry and the heady scent of cooked bacon made his stomach growl.

He unbuckled his greatsword and sat.

"Everything looks so good!" said Hawke, eying the plates of food. "This is either a lovely sendoff or the kitchen help is sticking around. Anyone know where Aran is?"

Aveline, busy chewing, lifted a finger to point toward the serving door just as the housekeeper emerged into the dining hall.

"My Lady? Is breakfast today more to your liking?"

"That was remarkable timing, Aran. And, yes, this is perfect," she said, waving a hand over the aromatic basket of herbed bread, tray of crispy bacon, bowls of soft-boiled eggs, clotted cream and fresh-picked berries. "My compliments to Tuela."

Aran beamed. "She will be so happy that you are pleased, my Lady. Is there anything else you require?"

"Yes, but first, would you like to join us while we talk, Aran? There is plenty of food here."

The housekeeper's grey-blue eyes flashed to Fenris who was tearing into a slice of bread covered in clotted cream. In his other hand was a fat strip of bacon.

"Oh no, my Lady, I have already eaten. Thank you for the generous offer."

Fenris caught her gaze and lowered his hands, feeling suddenly like a traitor.

"Very well," said Hawke. "Do you know how many of the staff have decided to stay?"

"Word spread of how you saved Yulian, my Lady. That impressed them even more than the food and the promise of coin. They're convinced there is no better place for them than right here with you. All of them wish to stay..."

The housekeeper's mouth tightened and the pride shining in her eyes dulled. "Except for one."

"Oh?"

Fenris tensed. Though he wanted to see Mistress Hawke to gauge her response, sitting beside her like this, the angle would be too obvious. He finished chewing the hunk of bread in his mouth and swallowed.

"One of the slaves would like to leave on that pirate ship, my Lady. He's young and has dreams of other lands. He doesn't understand how difficult life can be..."

_Now we will see her true nature_ thought Fenris, frowning.

"Who is it?"

Aran hesitated. "Regino, my lady, one of the body slaves."

"Well, that's a bit of a relief, actually," said Hawke, "I wasn't sure what I was going to do with him."

Anders looked up at her, appearing rather relieved himself.

Carver coughed, placing a loose fist over mouth, and lowered his head.

"What's a body slave?" asked Merrill, her olive green eyes wide and innocent. "Don't they _all_ have bodies?"

Fenris looked at her, incredulous.

"I'll let Isabela know she'll have a passenger." Hawke smiled at Aran. "He'll need a good set of travel clothes and a cloak, some coin, rations..."

"He will be most grateful, my Lady," said Aran, a flush of anxiety draining from her face.

Sofira, understanding the housekeeper's fears, gave the woman a gentle smile. "Everyone should find their own way in the world. I don't expect what I offer here to be everyone's cup of tea."

She thought for a moment. "What about the children?"

"They are orphans, my Lady, they have never known another home and they have nowhere else to go. I would not think it safe..." she paused, biting her tongue.

"It's okay, Aran. You're right. I wouldn't send them out into the world like this." She tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. "But I do want to give them a chance later once they've grown."

She looked at the little Dalish mage who paused in the middle of popping a berry into her mouth.

"Merrill..."

"Hawke?"

"How would you like to start a school?"

Merrill's eyes widened. She chewed and swallowed her berry in an instant as a bright grin dawned on her face.

"I could teach them of the Dalish! Oh, Hawke, that would be lovely! Could I?"

"It wouldn't interfere with your research?"

"Oh no, I'd make the time. Perhaps in the mornings after breakfast! I could teach them how to read and write and tell them stories of the people!"

Fenris couldn't believe his ears. _Teach slaves to read and write?_

"Then it's done. They will have school in the mornings and in the afternoons they can help around the mansion. But I don't want them working too much. Let them be children some of the time."

Aran bowed, speechless.

"Oh, and another thing. I know running a property like this must require a great amount of labor but I want to make sure my staff gets enough rest as well as some relaxation time. Aran, I'd like you to hire more people to spread the workload out a bit. Let me know how many you think you'll need. And make sure everyone has a day off each week..."

"Is she crying?" whispered Carver.

Anders and Merrill, their backs to Aran, turned their heads to look.

The housekeeper's shoulders were bowed, her forehead all that was visible under the line of greying hair. A hand shielded the rest of her face from prying eyes. Her last finger, sticking out from the others, trembled.

Sofira pushed back her chair and went to the woman. Extending her arms carefully, she wrapped the housekeeper in a hug.

Aran jumped, flustered. "Oh, my Lady, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Never in all my years did I ever expect to hear such things. I feel like I've been dunked in iced water!"

She was embarrassed beyond belief to be caught crying in front of the mistress and then to be held by her, like a babe in swaddling clothes, not a grown woman of her mid-years.

Hawke laughed, patting the woman on the back. "You've been dunked in iced water?"

The housekeeper blushed. She answered in a soft voice. "Yes, once, as a child."

Then she started to laugh too, short bursts of mirth escaped between rounds of self-consciousness.

Sofira, seeing her tears dry, gave the woman another gentle rub on the back and released her.

"I hope the rest of your life is far better than it has been, Aran. You deserve it."

Aran, ashamed and overwhelmed, wiped her face on her sleeve and shot a gaze toward the occupants of the dining table. But no one was paying attention to her. They were attending their breakfast plates, speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves. She looked back to Magister Hawke and smiled.

"I should return to my duties, my Lady. Thank you for your kindness."

"Always, Aran," said Hawke and watched her go, pleased to see a lightness in the woman's step that hadn't been there before.

* * *

><p>Fenris was fuming.<p>

The rest of the breakfast discussion had gone well. Aveline, the new Guard Captain of the estate, had asked for his opinion on several points. Yes, certain guards were better on night watch. No, new armor was not required, he had kept that in top condition as well as their arms. Yes, if guards were to have a day off, two more would be needed to provide minimum coverage. No, he would not be able to teach his abilities to the men, as they were infused with the lyrium but, yes, he would be willing to spar with them twice per week.

He approved of the structural changes that Aveline wished to make to the front gate and mansion doors. Her ideas were innovative. He liked Aveline. She seemed sensible, reasonable, reliable.

This is not what angered him. He didn't mind relinquishing command of the guard to her. Truth be told, he'd always kept interactions with other guards to a minimum. They feared him... and they should. It wasn't that he didn't like them, but that it was only a matter of time before Danarius ordered him to kill one for the amusement of his guests.

Mistress Hawke had then asked Aveline to go to the City Hall to find licensed craftsmen for the work and to make sure they all the proper permits. She also asked the Guard Captain to check the message boards while she was away to see if anyone needed assistance. No reason not to earn some coin as all these changes and new staff would cost.

The Mistress had another idea for generating income. She'd asked the Dalish mage and that abomination to go through the house with the instructions, "If it has eyes, or otherwise makes you uncomfortable, I want it gone."

Apparently, she planned to sell off much of Danarius' art.

This is not what angered him either. Being a slave, he'd never had an opinion on any of it one way or the other. In fact, it would give him pleasure to see Danarius' prized belongings taken down and sold.

He didn't even mind that he would be called upon to escort her companions about the city if they needed to run an errand. Mistress Hawke was still concerned about reprisal and he'd revealed to her that her concerns were founded, that he'd overheard conversations between Danarius and several of the other magisters who did not approve of her political ambitions to enforce the laws against blood magic or her desire to set up new laws giving slaves basic rights. She had good reason to give her companions more protection.

No, what had Fenris gnashing his teeth was something much worse than any of these changes. After their meeting, she'd taken him upstairs into the chambers next to hers, which had been vacated by that beardless dwarf. It consisted of a sitting room with its own fireplace, desk and bookshelves, leading into another room with a large bed, a stone tub for bathing and a tall window which looked out over the back of the property onto the gardens below.

She'd given him his own room.

_"Free men have things they call their own, Fenris," the mistress said, smiling. "This is yours now."_

_He panicked. "Have I displeased you in some way, my Lady?"_

_She laughed, "I just gave you the nicest room in the mansion after my own and you ask if you've displeased me? Don't be silly, Fenris. I just don't want you living like a slave anymore. You deserve better."_

_You would not say this if you knew of the blood on my hands, he thought._

_"But I will still protect you when you sleep." He made it a statement, willing it to be true._

_"No, Fenris. I do not think that is necessary."_

_Several thoughts ran through his head. She pitied him. She didn't trust him to watch over her at night. She didn't **want** him watching over her at night because he was... what had the abomination called him under his breath? Creepy? It was not an Arcanum word but he was fairly certain he had the jist of it. He scowled._

_"My Lady, I do not understand. You are most vulnerable at night. I cannot protect you if I am not there." His voice rumbled angrily in his chest._

_She pursed her lips._

_"There are no windows in my chamber, and only one very heavy door. I'm sure that was planned. An assassin would have to get through the guards at the front gate, past the guards inside, then up the stairwell, down the hallway and open that door latch without me hearing him, waking up and blasting him into very small, crispy pieces. I think I'm pretty safe."_

_"I respectfully disagree, my Lady," he said frowning. "This is not something to take lightly. One mistake will cost you your life. May I remind you that Danarius refused my sword and then died for his pride? Or have you already forgotten?"_

_He surprised himself by both the genuine concern he felt for her and the insubordinate tone of his voice. He'd spoken to Hadriana this way but never his master. Surely, Mistress Hawke would punish him for it. He braced himself._

_She was about to respond when the sound of jangling metal disrupted their dialogue._

_Carver appeared in the doorway with an assortment of tools in his arms and a long-suffering look on his face. _

_"Come, sister, let's give this door of yours a surgery."_

And now Fenris stood in one of the other bedrooms, balanced on a chair, while Merrill and the abomination pointed at objects for him to pull off the wall.

"Look at its eyes," said Merrill, holding her slender fingers over her lips. She swayed to the right and then to the left. "It's following me. Can it do that? Are we sure it's dead? Maybe it's magic."

"It's a _head._" Anders' voice rose on the last word.

"But..." Merrill moved further away and repeated her leanings. "How is it _doing_ that?"

"It's an illusion, Merrill."

"So it _is_ magic!" said the little mage, triumphant. "I knew it."

The blond man slapped his hands to the sides of his face and let them slide down his cheeks as his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling.

"What?" she asked, a lilt of melancholy in her voice.

"Demon." Fenris lifted the last animal head from its post. "Catch."

"I'm not a—" Anders caught the beastly thing just in time before a tusk gored him in the eye. He glared. "I have a name, elf."

"As do I." The warrior's tone was curt. Being in blond man's presence was not helping his mood. "Is there anything else you wish me to _remove_?"

"No. Thank you. Everything is _fine_ right where it is."

"That painting is fairly revolting," said Merrill pointing to a large portrait of a dour, old woman in black which stared out at them from above the fireplace mantle. She started leaning to the side again.

Anders watched her. "That one doing it too?" he asked, his voice dry with sarcasm.

The Dalish mage nodded, her eyebrows arching up together toward the center of her forehead.

Fenris thought about jumping down and carrying his chair over to the painting but he needed a task to focus his mind. Balancing like this was easy for someone with his physical ability but it felt like good practice anyway, something he hadn't gotten much of in the last two days. He plotted a path to the other side of the room.

Shifting his weight between his foot on the front edge of the seat and his other foot on the top of the chair back, he twisted his left leg forward, bringing the bottom of the chair around. Then, he twisted in the other direction and the back of the chair swung around. He repeated these motions, walking the chair all the way to the other side of the room, around a desk, a table and another chair, until he was in front of the opposite wall, staring into the flat eyes of a long dead magister.

"That was quite good!" said Merrill, admiring the warrior's dexterity.

"Yes, just like a dancing bear I saw once. You should join a gypsy caravan." The abomination's voice drawled behind Fenris' back, unimpressed.

He heard a sound like something hitting cloth.

"What? It's true! The bear was the best act by far."

Fenris reached out to grip the sides of the painting and lifted, muscles in his back and arms bunching under the bulk of it. The top came away from the wall easily but whatever wiring suspended it seemed trapped. He tried again.

"Need some help?" asked Anders.

Fenris could hear the smug smile on the mage's face. He grunted dissent and tried again, lowering the portrait all the way down, pressing it against the wall and sliding it up one inch at a time to unfetter the hanging wire. Despite balancing on the chair and manuvering a frame as big as himself, the elf wasn't even beginning to get tired. He would do this as many times as it took. He needed this. The concentration required took his mind off the fact that he'd been banished from Hawke's chambers.

Merrill came to stand by the side of the hearth, resting her cheek against the wall. She looked up.

"You've almost got it, Fenris."

"No one is going to buy that painting. Her ugly mug could scare the taint off a hurloc. Why don't I save us some time and just blast it off the wall." Anders hands began to glow.

"No," said the warrior through his teeth. "Lady Hawke wanted. Us to. Gather, not to. Destroy..."

The portrait slipped up out of its hooks as the top edge came free and loomed out dangerously over the elf's head. He leaned back to support it, bending his knees to counterbalance the shift of weight. Angling the frame down closer to his body, he turned at the waist, twisting the chair around. Shooting a brief glare of triumph at Anders before the portrait obscured his view, he set the front two legs of the chair down and stepped off with catlike grace.

Anders sighed. He had to admit to himself that the elf had flair but he'd never say it aloud.

* * *

><p>AN: The ending here is a little lackluster but the chapter was turning into a real monster. I had to split it up somewhere. The next chapter is already half-written so, I'm thinking it will be out in less than a week. Thanks for reading!


	8. Memories

_THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><em>Characters_: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><em>Setting_: Tevinter Imperium_

_Thanks__: Chocolate hearts to my beta for this chapter, Tom.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Memories<br>**

* * *

><p>Fenris leaned the heavy portrait against a table in front of the hearth. Though he had never considered it, bare walls did suit this space better than the "things with eyes". The room now felt more open, less oppressive. Interesting.<p>

"Right. Let's get on with it then," said an impatient Anders. "We have another floor to do."

They exited, Merrill's clever feet leading the way to the stairwell.

Last to leave, Fenris closed the door behind him.

A metallic hammering piqued his elven ears, drawing his attention to the far end of the hallway. Carver knelt in front of Hawke's bedroom door with a chisel and mallet. Chips of wood splintered off the painstakingly-carved door in a rain of tiny limbs and shattered weaponry. One panel, the upper right, had already been removed. Reaching over her brother, Mistress Hawke was applying some finishing touches there.

The pair of them could have been in a painting, framed as they were by the rectangular wall behind them. But it was Hawke's pose that captured the elf. She balanced on the ball of her left foot, right leg extended behind her so as not to be in her brother's way. Her palms rested on the rough surface of the ravaged wood up above her head. Sunshine streamed in from the windows, coloring the long, easy half moon of her body with amber light all the way from the point of her boot to the tips of her slender fingers like a stroke from an artist's brush.

Grey smoke wafted out from between her fingers as she smoothed over Carver's efforts with a controlled fire. The faint smell of burning rosewood reached Fenris' nose, more pleasant by far than the smell of her singed skin had been the night before.

"Fenris!" Anders barked from the top of the stairwell.

Though the voice was wrong, it carried the same sharp edge as Danarius'. The elf flinched.

Startled by the sound, Hawke's head snapped over her shoulder and caught Fenris' gaze before he could look away.

"Coming?"

"Fasta vass!" Fenris swore under his breath. _This day grows worse from one moment to the next._

Anders was unfamiliar with this particular Arcanum phrase, but he could guess what it meant. The mage's eyes jumped from Fenris to Hawke then back to Fenris, as a dark green thought seeded in his mind. His eyes narrowed.

The elf turned his back on the pair and addressed the suspicious mage in a gruff voice. "I was... admiring the efficiency of her method. Less wasteful than replacing the entire door."

"Uh huh..." said the blond flatly.

Fenris decided further explanation was pointless. He brushed past Anders, roughing the man's arm as he passed, and started down the steps.

Hawke called to her friend. "Everything all right, Anders?"

He gave her a quick wave and a nod.

She smiled back.

Carver, observing the latest interchange between his sister and Anders, rolled his eyes and then returned to his work, banging his mallet loudly.

* * *

><p>Merrill was waiting for them in the first room. Each of the guest chambers on this floor had two rooms, same as the floor above, though they were smaller from wall to wall. She had collected a few of the more portable pieces and placed them in the center of the rug. She looked up as Fenris, scowling even more so than he had been for the last hour, entered with a slap of his hand against the door. Anders followed a breath later, looking no less irritable.<p>

"I won't ask," she said, mostly to herself since the men weren't listening.

The three worked in silence for a time, each taking what items they felt diminished the space and placing them in the center of the front room.

By the time they got to the last set of rooms, the animosity between Anders and Fenris had grown into a palpable aura which surrounded each of them, acting like a mutually repulsive force. Anders had taken the back room, leaving the front to the warrior elf. Merrill stood in the doorway in between, uncomfortable and feeling a bit useless, but unwilling to get in either man's way.

She'd tried talking to Anders but, as usual when the healer didn't wish her company, he'd treated her to single-syllable responses then ignored her completely until she'd given up. Now she turned her attention to Fenris, watching the white lyrium markings jump over the muscles in his arms as he worked. In a way, the lines reminded her of her clan.

"Your tattoos are like vallaslin," she said, "the markings of the Dalish."

He looked up for a moment only before bending to wrestle with a bulky Old God statue in the corner. "Yours are not made of lyrium."

"No, they're made of blood. Our blood. That's what vallaslin means: blood writing. It's a mark of adulthood."

Fenris found a secure grip and lifted the statue with a grunt, hefting the cumbrous thing up and onto his shoulder. A light sheen of perspiration glazed his skin. He leveled her with a haunted stare.

"Mine were carved into my flesh against my will, in a ritual I remember only for the agony it caused me."

"I'm... so sorry."

The warrior grimaced at her words as he carried the god to its temporary resting place on the center of the carpet.

"Keep your sorrow." He dropped his burden. "I have no use for it."

Merrill felt Anders come to stand behind her. His voice, sharp and conclusive, resonated over her head. "You know, it's a good thing Hawke freed you. You really don't have the temperament for a slave."

Fenris' body tensed. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"An observation. You've been nothing but belligerent since we met you, even though you've been very well-treated... so, this must be you in a _good_ mood. I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you."

"I was too valuable. How have the templars not killed you?"

"I'm charming."

Anders' attempt at humor was completely lost on Fenris.

"You are possessed by a _demon_." His forest green eyes flashed with fire.

Merrill came to the conclusion that standing between the two men was unwise. She tiptoed behind a high-backed chair. Just in case.

Now that he had more space, Anders leaned back against the door frame. _So that's what this is all about _he mused_._ He remembered how the elf had charged at him like a wild animal when Justice revealed himself in Danarius' dining hall... a rabid wild animal in a brume of lyrium fire. It would not do to have a repeat of that here amongst all these fragile things. As it was, he could feel Justice's indignation rising. Better to set the record straight.

"I'm _not_ a demon, actually. The spirit inside me was a good man, a Grey Warden. In the Fade, he became a spirit of Justice. And he didn't leave the Fade for any nefarious purpose. He didn't even leave of his own will."

Fenris scoffed. "Do you see yourself as harmless then? A 'charming' abomination? What a glorious lie to tell yourself at night before you fall asleep. How convenient for you."

"My life is anything but convenient," said Anders.

"Collusion with a demon not all you thought it would be? You have my most insincere condolences."

"No, it's not like that! I am _not_ an abomination. Justice and I have similar goals. I thought we could help each other, make each other stronger, work together to end the injustice of the Chantry's strangle hold over the Circle of Magi... but _my_ anger corrupted _him_, not the other way around."

Fenris snapped. "Irrelevant. You admit that your body is inhabited by a spirit from the Fade. Has this possession made you an imbecile? Or do you simply _choose_ to ignore the truth? You gave yourself to a demon in exchange for more power to aid you in your own personal war. In the end, the blood of innocents will be on your hands, if it isn't already."

Anders opened his mouth to speak. Elsa had died by his hand, an accidental casualty of his rage against the templars, though, as a tranquil, she had been mostly dead already. But then Hawke had come to Tevinter because of his actions... actions performed behind her back. He had betrayed her and still, she protected him. He should have remained behind. He should be fighting the Chantry, not piddling about with tasteless artifacts like some noble fop. At the time of the attack, he'd felt guilty... and desperately wanted to be with her. Now, he wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice. What had they done since they'd come here besides play at politics and kill one magister? And what did they have to show for it? Bethany, a mage and a good friend, was gone.

Seeing the guilt smeared across Anders' face, Fenris stalked towards his prey, fists clenched. "Weak, self-serving mages will always succumb to the promises of demons."

"Surely you don't think all mages are self-serving, Fenris. I only want to help my people... your people." Merrill's fingers toyed with the wooden edge at the top of the chair.

"They are not _my_ people, they are just people. But, if that is your desire, it is a worthy one. May you never fall prey to the lures of demons and blood magic."

Anders' hard laugh contained no humor. "Too late for that..."

Fenris shot Merrill a look of disappointment. "Then you are lost as well."

"No, I'm _not_. The path is quite clear to me. I'm trying to preserve the old ways, and to protect our people. Blood magic isn't evil. It's just another form of magic, like arcane and creative magics. We may not be perfect, but we're not all like your master, Danarius."

"How often I hear that, and yet, how often I see mages committing crimes under one guise or another. Believe what you like. In my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power. You may deceive yourself but others will pay the price for your folly. I know..."

He held out his arms, lyrium trails pulsing just under the surface. Merrill could see thin scars criss-crossing his skin, remnants of wounds so deep even magic could not wipe them away completely.

"You see but a small part of the damage you mages leave behind. I have seen much, much worse."

She could only imagine. "Some of us may surprise you, Fenris. Like Hawke for instance."

"Yes, about Hawke," said Anders, "Does _she_ know how you feel about mages? I'm beginning to think it's not safe for her with you staying here. If you think you'd be better off somewhere else, you should take her offer and go. Go to Kirkwall where mages are chained and broken... like slaves. You'll like that, wouldn't you, you ungrateful bastard."

This, finally, pierced through Fenris' armoring. He stepped back. "I... am not ungrateful. Nothing could be further from the truth."

Anders crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the elf in disbelief.

Whatever the truth, Fenris did not like the mage looking at him that way. "I do not need to explain myself to you, abomination. If anyone should leave this place, it is you. You and your demon endanger us all."

Hearing footsteps in the hall, he fell silent.

"Is everything all right in here?"

"Hawke!" Merrill exhaled with relief and stepped out from behind her shield of furniture. "It's wonderful to see you!"

She skipped towards the group of objects Fenris had dragged to the center of the room and presented them with a flourish of hands. "There's a pile in every room waiting to be carried away."

"Yes, I saw them. It will be nice to walk through the mansion without being leered at by the artwork. Thank you, you've done a wonderful job, all of you." Her eyes lingered on Fenris. "Might I have a word with you?"

A wicked grin crawled across Anders' face. He swaggered towards the door, behind an apprehensive Merrill.

"Good luck," said the blond, though it was unclear to whom he spoke.

When they were gone, Hawke turned to the ex-slave, who had taken a head down posture of surrender, all of his anger replaced by resignation. He'd been caught. He knew it.

"Did I overhear you suggesting that Anders leave?"

He nodded.

"And what gives you the right to make such a suggestion?"

Fenris unbuckled his greatsword and leaned it against the wall. Then he knelt before her.

"My Lady, I have been... belligerent" He used the abomination's word. It fell on his own ears like the first lash. "I should be punished." _Just do it. Pain at least would be familiar. These kindnesses I do not understand, do not trust._

He heard her breathing change but did not dare look up. The moments ticked by. He waited, knowing punishment would come eventually. It was inevitable.

First, her boots came into view under the fringe of his hair, followed in quick succession by her knees, her hips, her waist. Then her soft hands were holding the sides of his face. She raised his head until her dark eyes peered into his. The skin under her eyes was wet. His pulse quickened. What new torture was this? The dream flashed in his mind. She was too close.

"Fenris..."

He watched her mouth form the word, his name, felt her breath on his face. Her scent filled him with images of a red-petaled flower that grew along the coast on thorny bushes. The same color bloomed on her lips and skin. Much too close.

"I only want to help you, Fenris. We all do. What more can I do to help you to see this?"

"This is what I am, my Lady. Why try to turn steel into gold? Just use the steel."

Her hands fell away from him, coming to rest in her lap as she sat back on her heels.

"You are a man, not a weapon. Not a _thing_."

"I am a slave."

"Not anymore."

_This is all I will ever be_ he thought.

He'd been free once, six years ago after a long and bloody conflict with the Qunari on Seheron. Following the battle, the departing ship had been too full with men far more important than he and he'd been left behind to die, multiple wounds oozing in his flesh. Danarius hadn't been given a choice.

Natives of the isle, Fog Warriors, had found him, saved him. They were a fierce, admirable people, rebelling against both Qunari and Tevinter rule, living off the land. They'd made him one of their own and taught him their ways. He'd actually been happy for a period of several months. But then Danarius had returned for his property.

The magister had ordered Fenris to kill his benefactors. All the years of brainwashing, living in servitude, had reared up to overwhelm his will and the elf had obeyed his master, killing them all. But afterward, standing amid their ravaged corpses and covered in their blood, the regret of his actions was an immediate backlash. Fenris turned against his master for the first time.

Danarius had been too strong, casting fire and calling elemental creatures to attack the elf until he was overcome.

The next year had been the most terrible in Fenris' limited memory, filled with degradation and pain. Their relationship had changed from compliant slave and proud master to a cycle of daily punishment which Danarius seemed to enjoy even more. Danarius had left Fenris with his memories, knowing they would serve to keep the slave in his place, punishing him over and over every time he remembered the murders of those who had sought to help him. And the warrior had learned his lesson well. He'd tasted freedom. Now, confronted with it again, he ran. There was no such thing for one such as he.

Fenris was grateful to be away from the cruelty of his old master but no less resolved to his station.

"This is all I will ever be, my Lady. I deserve nothing more."

"You're wrong." Her voice was low and adamant. "Whatever you've been told, whatever you've been through, that is not your life any more. If it takes me the rest of mine, someday, you will see it."

She sighed. "You can't be expected to change overnight. This is going to take time. I expect the other ex-slaves are feeling some version of the same thing if _this_ is all they've ever known. You need new experiences. You need hope."

Her words were salt in his wounds. He didn't want to hope. To hope simply made the pain more intense when it came, and it always came. Better to feed his hatred as Danarius had done. Hate was the fuel of a warrior, not hope. Why couldn't she understand this?

"Come with me." She stood and extended her hand.

He stared at it. She wasn't going to punish him. Her fingers flittered, encouraging him to respond. They were so fragile-looking, he couldn't bring himself to touch them. He stood on his own.

* * *

><p>Hawke paced between the stool where <em>Alaias sat peeling potatoes and the butcher block where Remius<em> stood chopping the heads off a brace of quail. Tuela, the cook, listened with eager ears to Sofira's requests, making suggestions of sauces and side dishes to complement the dinner. Fenris' stomach growled as they discussed dish after tantalizing dish.

"And we'll need something sweet for dessert. Oh, I know, make a big, fabulous cake! It's not a celebration without cake."

"Certainly, my Lady. What kind would you prefer?" asked the cook, wiping her hands on her apron as she reached for a clean bowl.

"I've always been partial to chocolate myself," said Hawke, "but do you have a specialty?"

"I could make a three-tiered, dark chocolate cake with cream topping, if you like. I still have enough Antivan beans for a robust coffee cream. Do I? Yes. Yes, I do. Oh, my Lady! It will be the best cake you've ever tasted, I promise." Tuela's birdy blue eyes sparkled with excitement. She clasped her hands together and giggled. "Oh, yes, and that will follow the last course rather well."

"You are a treasure, Tuela," said Hawke. "I can't wait until tomorrow night."

"What about drink, my Lady?"

"Drink?"

"Of course, my Lady! You'll want a red for the duck and one for the boar - a white to go with the spinefish... "

"You have a full wine cellar, my Lady," said Fenris, explaining. He pointed to a set of stone steps which led down into a sub cellar beneath the kitchens and dry store rooms.

Hawke grinned. "I? Have a wine cellar? Show me."

* * *

><p>Hawke's brown eyes widened as she gawked at the tall racks of wine filling the cellar. Numerous dark glass surfaces gleamed under a thin coat of dust, giving her the sense of stumbling upon an ancient trove of forgotten treasure.<p>

_There must be a hundred bottles on each wall and hundreds more on these center racks. Are those more crates in the corner? Ha! I'll be taken to the Void for this but I'm going to see every last one of these bottle drunk dry... with help of course._

"That old bastard did something right," she said outloud to herself. Then, louder, "This is an impressive collection."

Fenris held up a deep green bottle. "This was his favorite, Aggregio Pavali."

An impish grin sprang to Hawke's lips. "Well, I've just discovered that I have an extensive wine cellar. That's a good reason to celebrate, don't you think? Open it."

Fenris inclined his head and placed the top of the bottle against the back of his gauntlet, wax seal parting to the sharp edge of an armored knuckle. He made a half circle, repositioned his grip, and completed the rest of the cut. Then he peeled the wax away from the cork.

Sofira was absorbed in the precise movements of his hands.

He set the wine bottle on a serving table under a set of crystal tasting goblets which hung upside down, glittering in the half light. He opened a small drawer in the center of the table. Removing a coil of metal set into a wooden handle, he drove the sharp point down inside the neck of the bottle. Each twist was defined by a practiced confidence.

"Are you familiar with this wine, my Lady?"

"No, I'm not. I've never heard of it."

"I could tell you about it, if you wish," he said, grasping the neck firmly in one hand.

"Please do, Fenris." She was happy to hear him volunteer himself for the role of tutor given his earlier submissiveness. If this was a source of pride for him, she would encourage it.

The right side of his mouth slanted into a reluctant half-smile that faded too fast, leaving her pulse quickened in its wake.

_Maker, that little smile of his is deadly._

He pulled at the cork, nudging its release with careful, coaxing motions.

"To make a Pavali aggregio, the vintner only uses grapes from 100 year old vines, picked at the end of the season to draw a fuller flavor. The wine is then mellowed for eight years in barrels of fired kimberwood from the Tirashan."

She could hear his appreciation for something so well crafted. The cork came out with a diminutive pop.

"A Pavali is more complex that any other aggregio." Fenris held the cork to his nose, closing his eyes and breathing in the bouquet. Satisfied with its quality, he set the cork down and reached for one of the hanging glasses. "It is still fruit-driven, but earthier, with touches of smoke and spice."

Leaning the glass to one side, he poured. A stream of rich redness raced from the mouth of the bottle to tour around the broad bowl of the goblet in a smooth ring, deepening in color as the glass filled.

"I'm impressed. How do you know so much about wine, Fenris?"

"It pleased Danarius for me to know such things." He handed her the glass. A gentle, swirling circle of liquid filled the goblet to its widest point, about a third of the way from the base of the bowl. She held it up, seeing the color from the side, through the glass, and then looked straight down into the shallow depths. Light glinted off the edges of the crystal stem, shimmering upwards through the pooled wine like stars in a blood red sky.

The aroma was fantastic.

She brought the rim to her lips and took a sip, letting the coolness of it warm around her tongue.

Fenris held his breath as he watched her mouth take the glass.

"Mmmm. Maker's breath... this is... amazing. You're right. I can taste blackberries and..." she took another sip, "plums, I think... and there's definitely a smokiness..."

She smiled. "There is a delicate spicy finish."

The warrior felt his ears grow hot and looked away. "I am glad you like it, my Lady."

"You served this often?" she asked.

"Danarius made me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed." The half-smile came and went once again, leaving a shadow of bitterness behind.

_I can't imagine why they'd be put off. He's so attractive._

Normally, Sofira was the type to say compliments rather than just think them but, after last night's tragic bungle, she didn't trust her tongue. Not around this exotic man who could disarm her with the barest smile.

"So they were frightened of you?"

"None of his guests were like you, my Lady."

_Like me?_ _Right... like me, The Mistress, the battle harpy who slaughtered his master and now must be obeyed. Right now I would give a dozen cases of this wine to be someone he could trust. No time like the present to start introducing some better memories._

"What about you?"

"My Lady?"

Sofira took down an empty goblet and placed it on the table. "I'm not about to drink this entire bottle by myself. Join me."

He swallowed, lyrium lines at his throat shifting with the movement.

"As you wish." Fenris poured, quicker this time.

"A toast." Sofira held up her glass. "To the rest of your life."

* * *

><p>He'd never been drunk before.<p>

The Fog Warriors had introduced him to a clear alcohol that they made from grain. He'd taken a swig of it, swallowed it, coughed violently for a few minutes and then never touched the stuff again. But this Aggregio Pavali... this was good. It was better than good. He'd not intended to drink so much but it gave him something to do when he found himself looking too long at some part of _her_. Before he knew it, they were into their second bottle and now... yes, he was drunk.

It wasn't exactly an unpleasant feeling. His thoughts were a bit random and his tongue did odd things when he tried to answer Mistress Hawke's questions but she was doing most of the talking anyway. He liked her voice. Sitting crosslegged on the floor of the wine cellar, listening to her tell stories of her adventures in Kirkwall, Fenris was more relaxed than he could remember being, especially within these cursed walls.

He was also starting to see his mistress' companions in a better light. Apparently, Isabela had freed a cargo of elves bound for slavery, an action which had led to the wreck of her first ship. Varric was an unusual dwarf, a crackshot with his bow, no interest in politics, and more invested in adventure than gold. Aveline had lost her husband, a templar, to darkspawn but made a new life for herself in Kirkwall, raising the city guard to a respected institution. And so on. By the time Hawke was done, Fenris could even see some small potential in Anders, though he wouldn't ever trust the mage at his back. He must be drunk.

Footsteps shuffled on the stone steps alerting Fenris to the approach of another. He sat up, head swimming, but alert.

"My Lady?" Tuela's voice floated down to them as her round face popped into view. "Oh there you are. It's none of my business of course but your dinner is ready in the hall. Would you care to join your friends at the table? Or I can bring something down to you if you like. Or..." she paused seeing the two sets of bleary eyes blinking back at her. An open wine bottle lay on its side on the stone floor and another canted in Fenris' loosened grip.

"We'll be up in a few, Tuela," said Hawke, hoisting her empty glass in the air. "Thank you."

The cook's head bobbed. "As you like, my Lady," she said, smiling, and went back up the stairs.

Hawke, leaning against a wooden rack, rolled her head toward the elf.

"Any more left?"

Fenris held the bottle up to the light, peering through the glass with one eye squeezed shut.

"There'z sum," he reported, slurring the words together.

"You have it. I'm going t'have trouble standing as it is." She gave a happy sigh as she watched the handsome elf drain the bottle into his goblet and then raise the glass to his lips, finishing off what remained.

"I should go upstairs. The others'll wonder where I am," she said, setting down her glass.

Fenris both heard and felt a chord of disappointment. The events of the morning were not forgotten, but they were diminished. It had been a most enjoyable afternoon. Right here, right now, he was unconcerned for the future. He would always have this memory to fall back on and no one had to suffer or die for him to attain it. It was a gift he would always treasure.

They wobbled to their feet, the elf more steadily than the human despite the fact that he'd consumed a greater quantity of wine. He permitted himself a measure of pride in that.

"Oh, wine! I should bring some wine to dinner!" said Hawke.

Fenris was closer to the aggregio rack. He picked up a bottle.

"Bring two of 'em," she said. "An' the opener!"

* * *

><p>Four heads lifted as Hawke and Fenris, carrying the wine, entered the dining hall. Four faces each wore a different mask; red-headed amusement, brotherly concern, wide-eyed curiosity and a pout. No, not a pout. On second look it was more like a man betrayed.<p>

She chose to ignore this last one for the moment, hoping it would go away once Anders tasted the wine.

"We bring gifts!" Sofira said in a booming voice.

Carver cheered. "Glad to see you're all right, sister. The rest of us weren't sure where you'd disappeared to."

"Fenris and I were... talking. Did you know there's a wine cellar? With wine?"

"Wouldn't be much of a success without it, I imagine," said Merrill.

"It looks like your 'talk' went well." Anders sulked in his chair, throwing dark looks at both Hawke and her elven wine porter as they sat down, she next to Anders and he next to Aveline on the other side of the table. Carver and Merrill occupied the end seats.

"Cheer up, Anders. Have a drink!" Hawke gestured to Fenris to open a bottle. "You're all going to _love_ this stuff. It's an aga.. it's an ager-gio made from 100 year old grapes!"

Fenris' head snapped up, a comical expression of 'hmm-should-I-say-something' on his face.

"An' then they keep it in these barrels... from kimberwood... until it's ripe!"

The elf cringed.

"Just wait 'till you taste the spicy finish..." she said, eyebrows wiggling.

Anders rolled his eyes. "I think I'll pass. You know Justice doesn't let me get drunk anyway. It would just be rancid grapejuice to me."

He stood and threw his napkin over his plate of food, which was only half eaten.

"But... it's really _good_!" Hawke was mind-boggled that he would pass up such an opportunity.

"Thank you. Another time. I've lost my appetite."

"Where are you going?"

"I think I'll drop in on Varric at the Grey Lady, if that's all right with you."

"You shouldn't go alone, Anders," said Hawke with a tinge of fear in her voice.

"Yes, well, that's one of the benefits of being me. I'm never alone." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked from Hawke to her ever-present elven shadow. "And don't even think about sending _him_ along to 'protect' me."

"I'll go with you," said Carver, shoveling another mouthful of food into his face before pushing out his chair. "Varric owes me some coin anyway."

"Varric owes _you_?" Aveline looked shocked.

"Technically, no," answered the young man, "but I mean to win it back."

"Keep telling yourself that, Carver."

"Oh, it _will_ happen, Aveline. You'll see." He grinned, clapping Anders on the back. "Let's go, Blondie."

The disappointed mage gazed at Hawke as if she'd personally just handed off Ser Pounce-a-Lot to the templars for safe keeping. It seemed as if he had something to say, perhaps a lot to say, but he remained silent. He turned and strode from the dining hall, with Carver keeping pace.

The remaining four shared one of the bottles of Aggregio Pavali, Aveline and Merrill agreeing that the others had missed out by deciding to leave early.

After a while, the Dalish mage stretched and excused herself, saying, "I'm going to turn in. I'm having my first lessons with the children in the morning. Well, not lessons really but we'll get to know each other better. Good night, Hawke, Aveline... Fenris."

Aveline nodded to the Dalish mage.

"I should head to bed as well. First day of calisthenics tomorrow morning at six bells. You're welcome to join us, Fenris. Don't forget you're scheduled to spar with the men at seven."

"I have not forgotten. I will be there."

* * *

><p>Fenris lay in his bed, in his room, staring at the ceiling. His bed. <em>His<em> bed. His _bed_. It didn't sound right in his head no matter how many times he thought it.

The constant spinning didn't help.

* * *

><p>Hawke lay in her bed staring at the deep red canopy hanging overhead. There were little waves rippling along the fabric, shadows or reflections, she couldn't decide. Maybe it was just the wine making her see things but it reminded her of the shoreline.<p>

When they'd first come to Minrathous, a little over two years ago, she'd walked along the beach with Beth and Carver. It had been a hazy day, the sky a glowing expanse of silver, brightest at the point where the sun shone behind a thick cloud cover but could not break through. They'd taken off their boots to feel the wet sand between their toes.

_Bethany stopped and gazed out over the water while Hawke and Carver fenced with driftwood swords._

_"Do you think this same water has touched other shores?" she asked. "It rushes up around my ankles but then it goes back out to sea."_

_Carver shrugged. "We traveled here. I suppose it started somewhere else too." _

_"I wonder how it decides where to go. I mean, out of all the places it could be right now, it's here."_

_"Well, it's got to go somewhere, Beth," said Carver as he ducked a blow._

_"It's fate," said Sofira._

_"Do you think so?" Bethany sighed. "I like that idea."_

_Sofira squealed as Carver, tired of being poked by her length of driftwood, bowled her over into the sand. She punched him - right, left, right - and he rolled over, arms up to defend himself from her playful strikes._

"I miss you so much, Bethy," whispered Sofira, covering her face with a pillow to muffle the sounds of her sadness.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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A/N: Geeze, well, I meant to get this out much earlier but I got attacked by writers' block in a bad way. Sorry, guys! I hope it was worth the wait. Didn't want to post something half-assed. The next chapter has some surprises so I'm not going to make any promises about getting it done early. I learned my lesson. Cheers & thanks for all your kind reviews. I take each one to heart. ~Tori

PS: (added 6/28/11) I've had a couple of people ask "Why are they in Tevinter?" and "Why isn't Hawke with Anders?"It's okay, there are a lot of little details thrown into this story and I don't expect it's easy to remember them from chapter to chapter, not when there is a week between chapters AND you're reading other stuff too.

So, in case you missed it, here's what happened up to this point:  
>Everything that happened in the original game, UP TO the point where Hawke got her family mansion back in Hightown after the Deep Roads expedition, happened in this AU as well - EXCEPT for the deaths of BethanyCarver and meeting Fenris (because he got recaptured by Danarius). Leandra is living back in Kirkwall in the family home with Bodhan and Sandal. One other change that I made is that Anders blew up the Knight-Commander's office, killing her assistant, Elsa. Unfortunately, the Knight-Commander was away at the time and lived. Anders believes that Hawke relocated them to Tevinter because, deep in her heart, she is in love with him and wanted to save him from Meredith's reprisal. In reality, Hawke cares for Anders very much but doesn't love him due to the fact that his views are too extreme for her (and she's not into threesomes with Justice). She moved to Tevinter so that Anders, Bethany, Merrill and she could have lives as free mages. The grass is always greener on the other side! Now that she's here, it definitely isn't all it was cracked up to be but she's going to make the best of it for the sake of her friends and family.

PPS: (added 6/29/11) I am now on Twitter and Blogspot if you wish to follow my antics. ToriWritesFF is the name on both. Cheers!


	9. One of Those Days, Part 1

__THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><em>__Characters___: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><em>__Setting___: Tevinter Imperium__

__Thanks____: Cream sodas to my betas for this chapter, lotusflwr and Tom. Thanks to my readers for your comments. Hearing from you makes my day! __

__[Now on Twitter & Blogspot: ToriWritesFF]__

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: One of Those Days, Part 1<br>**

* * *

><p>Somewhere along the way, her brain had acquired a cheese knife.<p>

Why or when or how didn't matter. The knife was definitely there, being jabbed into her skull from the inside, just above her right eye.

If only her brain would stab slightly lower. Then her eye would pop out, her brain could escape through the hole and she would be blissfully free of this incessant, senseless, pounding _pain!_ That would be wonderful.

She groaned into the pillow which still rested against her face.

_Too much wine. Why did I never learn any healing spells?_

Sofira rolled over onto her side causing the entire room to veer sharply to the left and then drop about twenty lengths. Her stomach lurched. She groaned again and waited for her body to get used to the new position.

The fire in the hearth had long since burned out but the temperature was comfortable and the darkness was calming. There were benefits to having a bedroom devoid of windows when one was hungover and she'd made a habit of focusing on the positive whenever possible.

Soon, however, she would have to get up. Her mouth was as dry as a rock baking on a dune in the summer sun and the only water in the room she'd used last night to wash up before bed. Dirty, soapy water wasn't appealing. She'd have to go down to the kitchens. And that meant finding the door in complete darkness when she wasn't even sure she could walk straight.

A fire spell might help, just a little one to give her some light, but she soon thought better of it. No sense in accidentally setting the room on fire when she could simply feel her way to the door like every one else.

With slow movements, Hawke inched her way to the edge of the mattress, dropping her legs over the side. Her limbs felt so heavy, as if they belonged to someone else. She stood, cautious, testing her balance. Then she tried walking, one hand groping along the bed as she tottered towards the door.

She'd forgotten about the bedposts. Tender hand met sharp, carved vines, causing Sofira to yelp and grab the wounded hand within the other. She applied pressure to the hurt and cursed under her breath. On the positive side, it seemed to lessen the pounding in her skull for a moment.

Her craving for clean, cool water spurred her on. Hawke renewed her wobble towards the door... and bashed her shin into a chair.

"Maker's Bloody Shithole!"

Sofira dropped to the floor, grasping her leg. Groaning and cursing, she rolled from one side to the other, wishing water would just drop down from the ceiling to abate her thirst. Then, she remembered she was indoors, and it wouldn't be raining any time soon.

_It's my own fault. I shouldn't have had so much to drink._

She crawled to her feet and stumbled the rest of the way to the door.

The hallway outside seemed bright in comparison. A helpful moon gave her just enough guiding light to get from one end of the hall to the other. In fact, any more light would have raised the throbbing pain in her head to new levels of agony, so she gave thanks to the Maker for His unending wisdom and apologized for her earlier insult.

There were two night guards on duty by the stairs. They recognized her approach with salutes.

"Good evening, men," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Or is it morning?"

The shorter, thinner guard spoke in a chipper voice that could only belong to someone young, eager to please, and not hungover. "Morning, my Lady. Three bells rang a few minutes ago, though you may not have heard them. Dark bells are softer than day bells, after all."

Hawke gave a faint nod. "Okay. Thanks."

"Except for that ninth bell, eh?" He clicked his tongue. "That one's a kicker."

The other guard spoke, "Please excuse him, my Lady. He's new."

"What did I say? I was being helpful!"

"She knows about the bells, you git. Shut your mouth and mind your post."

Hawke couldn't help but chuckle though it increased the pounding in her head. "I'll leave you to it. Carry on."

The stairwell was not fun to navigate. Hawke kept feeling like the weight of the world was pulling her forward, wanting her to fall on her face and tumble down the steps.

When she finally made it to the kitchen, she saw one of Tuela's helpers sleeping on a galley table, probably so that he'd be available should anyone need something in the middle of the night. _Her eyes were too watery and squinty at the moment to _tell if it was _Alaias or Remius. Not that it mattered. She wasn't about to wake him up at this hour, whoever he was._

_On the main preparation table, next to a stack of mugs, was a pitcher. Bless Tuela for putting things in plain sight. Sofira picked up the pitcher, brought it to the water cask and turned the tap. The sound of liquid pouring into the clay pitcher made her salivate. Raising the vessel to her parched lips, Hawke took big, greedy gulps until it was mostly empty and she could drink no more. _

__That should do it.__

_She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her nightrobe and set the pitcher back down on the table. Then she headed back to the stairs and began her ascent. As Sofira neared the second floor landing, a wave of nausea crashed over her, threatening to spill the contents of her stomach all over the stone steps._

__Maybe that was too much water. Privy... where's the privy?__

_The only one she knew of was on the third floor. She clapped a hand over her mouth and ran for it. _

* * *

><p>Vomiting into a hallway privy in the middle of the night while a chatty guard held her hair was not how Sofira had envisioned starting the day.<p>

"My sister was a drinker, my Lady. I've done this plenty of times, don't you worry."

"She 'was' a drinker? Did she die?" asked Sofira before another wave of nausea forced her head back over the privy hole.

The guard waited until she was done. "Nope, she quit drinking."

"Completely? That's a bit extreme." Hawke stood up, feeling like the worst was past.

The guard released her hair and stepped back, forehead furrowing. "So was her drinking, my Lady. And her gambling. Her bad habits put our family into such debt, I had to sell myself into slavery. The collectors would have killed her otherwise... or worse. I couldn't let that happen."

"Is that how you ended up here?"

"Yes, my Lady, just three weeks ago. My family's debt is paid off and I'm a free man, working for you. Things have turned out as well as they could, all things considered."

"Well," said Sofira, stepping into the hall, "I'm glad things worked out for you. Just don't go selling yourself into slavery again, all right?"

"Yes, my Lady. I won't. I heard about Master Danarius from the other guards. Most magisters aren't as nice as you. We all know how lucky we are that you came along when you did!"

Hawke hated bootlickers but, in a way, heartfelt gratitude was worse. She loved being able to help people. It was the right thing to do and it felt good. But that look of indebtedness their eyes afterward always embarrassed her to the core. Between that and the persistent throbbing in her head, Sofira felt the need to return to her room as soon as possible. This whole getting-out-of-bed silliness had been a bad idea.

"Yes, well, glad I could help," she said and paused, realizing that she had never asked his name.

"Conon, my Lady." He bowed. "At your service."

"Good night, Conon."

* * *

><p>Sofira awoke, back in her bed. Her nausea was significantly better but her head still ached. Maybe it was time to try water again. Unfortunately, it was still pitch black and she didn't relish another encounter with the furniture.<p>

How had Danarius managed to see without windows? And without lanterns? Did he just keep a fire blazing in his hearth all the time, even in the summer? Maybe he possessed some kind of extra sense which allowed him to see in the dark. She chewed her lip and peered into the darkness. No, he must have set up _something_.

"Luminos!"

"Let there be light!"

"On lantern!"

She frowned. There had to be some kind of trick to it. Hawke clapped her hands and snapped her fingers. Nothing. Maybe she should just risk setting something on fire...

There was a knock at the door.

_Oh, thank the Maker!_ "Come in!"

A seam of bright daylight appeared. It sliced through the darkness, widening to reveal two silhouettes, one tall and one petite, waiting in the doorway.

"Hawke?" It was Aveline.

"You are a lifesaver, my friend. I couldn't find the lights." Hawke blushed. "Please, come in."

"Talan," said a young, feminine voice. The room lit up.

Sofira squinted and climbed out of the bed, holding one hand above her eyes. As her vision adjusted, she could see that several soft-glowing orbs hovering near the ceiling, dressing the room in a pleasant white light.

"If you want it brighter, my Lady, just say the word louder," said Oviana, the chambermaid, as she neared the bed holding a goblet filled with brownish liquid. "If it's too bright, then whisper. And when you wish to turn them off, say..."

She stopped at the corner of the bed and looked back at Aveline who nodded.

"Katara."

The lights went out.

"Talan," said Sofira in a quiet voice. The orbs flared up softly. She nodded with appreciation. "Huh! That's very good. What language is that?"

Oviana shrugged. "Don't know, my Lady."

Aveline smiled, thumbs hooked into her belt. "We brought you a hangover remedy, courtesy of Tuela. She says it tastes like a burned cat rolled in moldy fruit, but it's supposed to work like a charm. I thought you might need it."

Hawke took the glass from Oviana as she eyed the guardswoman. "How did you know?"

"Well, let's just say that you looked tipsy _before_ we shared that bottle at dinner last night. And then Fenris showed up to practice this morning looking like he'd been dragged behind an oxcart. So, I assumed."

A dubious Sofira stared into the goblet of sludge. It didn't begin to compare to the sensuous, burgundy beauty of an Aggregio Pavali. She also wasn't sure if she could hold it down. If her stomach couldn't handle something as simple as water... but she did need fluid. And Aveline had gone through the trouble of having it made and bringing it to her. She wouldn't disappoint her best friend.

A thought occurred to her. "How does she know what a burned cat tastes like?"

"I'd rather not think about it." said Aveline. "Don't sip that. It smells bad. Just drink it as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Ser, Captain Ser." Hawke gave a mock salute. "Maybe you can find me something to wear while I choke this down."

"Allow me, my Lady," said Oviana.

* * *

><p>Only Aveline, Hawke and Merrill sat at the breakfast table that morning, and Merrill's presence was short-lived. After eating a small bowl of porridge with berries, she'd excused herself to get ready for her meeting with the children. Then it was just the two of them.<p>

Sofira adjusted her collar. Oviana had selected a lovely green robe from Danarius' closet for her to wear. It was, of course, too large but Aveline had come up with an ingenious method of keeping the long sleeves out of Hawke's way. The clever guardswoman threaded a long thin sash up the inside of one sleeve, across Sofira's back and out the other sleeve. Then Aveline brought the two ends of the sash together behind Sofira's back and tied them. This pulled up both sleeves so the cloth draped over her upper arms, leaving her hands and forearms unhampered. And it was comfortable.

Pinching bite-sized pieces off a thick slice of unbuttered bread, Hawke forced herself to eat. The disgusting brown concoction in her stomach wasn't happy by itself. She tried not to think about what Tuela had put in it.

Aveline was recounting her successes at the morning training session. Apparently, things had gone well.

"Your guards are very obedient. They did their calisthenics and drills without question or complaint. A few of them have combat experience but I suspect it's mostly street fighting. All but a handful were hopeless with their practice swords. Well, not hopeless, but certainly not up to the standards of the Kirkwall guard. I'll try polearms tomorrow."

She looked pensive and then continued.

"The men enjoyed their time with Bellator. They've never worked with a mabari before. Today he was teaching them how to divide an enemy's attention so they can get the flank more easily. You've got such a smart boy there."

Sofira nodded proudly. "He is. Where is he anyway?"

"I gave him the morning patrol. The men like having him around and," Aveline paused, "they needed a pick-me-up after Fenris sparred with them."

"Trouble?" Hawke's stomach rolled. She put down the bread.

"He was a bit aggressive with them. I was curious what he would do so I stood back and let him take over the sparring portion of their training. He had them all stand in a circle around him... an inner and an outer circle—"

Hawke interrupted, "That's thirteen men. He took on all of them?"

Aveline nodded but she didn't seem to approve.

"It was the way he did it. It was... punishing. He moved so fast, they were disarmed and on the ground before they had a chance to use any of the techniques I'd shown them. I don't think they learned anything but to 'avoid the white-haired elf'. They seem terrified of him."

"I see," said Sofira. _No doubt he learned this tough approach from being around Danarius._ "Do you think you can work with him? Help him understand how to be a better teacher?"

"I'll try, Hawke."

"Is that why didn't he join us for breakfast?"

"No, not exactly. Tuela gave him some of her special cure after practice, then I sent him upstairs to rest. It wasn't easy. He kept insisting he had to report to you but he finally relented when I told him _you_ wouldn't want to see _him_ until he was more fit for duty."

Sofira smiled. "More fit for duty? He took on thirteen men, Aveline. It sounds like he was doing well."

"I know. He just looked miserable so I lied," admitted the guardswoman. "Despite his pallor, his fighting ability was unaffected. Hmmm. Or was it? I'd never seen him fight before so I can't compare. What if he's faster when he's not hungover? That's a frightening thought."

Aran entered the dining room carrying a linen-colored envelope.

"Message for you, my Lady. Would you like it now or should I put it upstairs in your chambers for later?"

The pattern on the envelope was familiar to Hawke. "I'll take it, Aran. Thank you."

The housekeeper delivered her package and left.

Aveline raised her eyebrows. "That from Leandra?"

Hawke nodded and broke the Amell seal. She held the envelope up to her nose and opened it, breathing in a bit of home. Then she pulled out the page and read.

_My darling Sofira,_

_I'm sure by now you've won your seat on the Tevinter Senate. You've always made me so proud. If your father was alive I know he would feel the same. Knowing that you and Bethany won't have to run from templars ever again, fills my heart with joy._

_Bodhan is taking good care of me. Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing. I am even thinking of remarrying now that the Amell family name has regained some standing. A nice Count came to call the other day. He brought me two bolts of Orlesian silk, said the color complemented my eyes. Can you imagine? Me, an old woman, courted like a maid! It was charming._

_Now if I could only find you a good husband, my life would be complete. Do tell me how things are going, my dear. Tell me you are at least going to a few parties and not just hanging around with your friends and that Anders boy. You must set a good example for Carver and Bethany. I am depending on you._

_Hug your brother and sister for me. I cannot wait to see you all again. Will you come back to Kirkwall and visit when you can? By the Maker's grace, I pray it will be soon._

_With all my love,_

_Mother_

"That's not a happy face," said Aveline. "Is everything all right?"

Hawke shook her head, handing the missive to her best friend. "Read it yourself."

Aveline took the letter. After a minute, she set the page down gently on the table. "I'm so sorry, Hawke. How are you going to tell her?"

"Carver and I have to go to Kirkwall. I can't leave news like this to a letter. 'Sorry, mother, but I couldn't keep an evil bastard from killing your only other daughter.' That would devastate her. It's going to devastate her as it is."

She pushed out her chair and stood. "I have to find Carver."

"I don't think he came home last night, Hawke."

"Then I'll go to The Grey Lady. He should see this."

"Hawke, slow down," said Aveline. "I'm sure he'll be back later. Carver's probably as hung over as you are and passed out on the floor of Varric's room sleeping it off. Besides, neither of you is going anywhere. Getting _The Siren's Promise_ ready to travel will keep Isabela busy for at least a few more days."

"I know." Sofira ran her hands through her hair. "But I have to do something. You know I can't sit still when I'm..."

A commotion sounded in the hallway outside the dining hall. She could hear the sound of men's voices, tromping feet, and clattering armor.

"Be careful what you wish for," said Aveline.

Hawke had just rounded the table and was heading for the noise when a line of armor clad soldiers filed into the hall, led by a self-important looking man in a light blue robe. His wavy brown hair was brushed back from a widow's peak, complementing the determination in his blue eyes and the serious set to his jaw. He was not unattractive but his demeanor was one of disdain and purpose. Whoever he was, it was not a social visit.

Aveline joined her friend, hand on the pommel of her sword. Experience had taught her to carry it everywhere, even to meals.

The stranger barked out commands to his men.

"Spread out. Round up everyone and bring them here. Don't let anyone sneak past you! Go!" He pointed at Sofira. "You, come with me."

His finger turned over into a hook that beckoned her to obey.

"Hawke?" said Aveline, in a low voice, ready for whatever would come.

"I think we are at a bit of a disadvantage at the moment," said Sofira to her friend. She looked at the intruder. "Who are you?I am not some lackey of yours to be commanded, Ser."

Though his face did not change in any noticeable way, his calm hesitance gave Sofira the sense he approved of her response. She tucked this information away.

"I am your best friend right now, Magister Hawke. I suggest you come with me so we can discuss your future in private, if you prefer, I could simply take you back to the gallows and let your heels cool for a few hours in a cell. I can arrange a view of the hangman's stage so you're properly motivated to be more compliant."

The skin between Aveline's freckles paled.

Hawke flushed in anger. "You've come at a bad time, _friend_. I'm in no mood for games."

"Neither am I." He appeared to be quite sincere in that. "Last chance."

"Aveline, stay wary but tell the others when they are brought in to be calm. Don't do anything unnecessary. I don't want this getting out of hand."

"Hawke..."

"I'll be fine."

Sofira walked towards the intruder. "We'll talk in the library and you will tell me what this is all about."

"That was my intent," he said in an almost civil tone as she passed.

* * *

><p>If anyone had been in the library before they arrived, it was empty now.<p>

Hawke walked toward the back wall and positioned herself behind a communal reading table. An open book lay there, an illustration of various types of ferns filling one page, the other decorated with a swirls of script. She skimmed the fancy characters briefly before fixing the blue-robed man with an icy stare.

"You've been a naughty, girl, Magister Hawke," he said, ignoring her gaze and picking up a peach from a bowl in the center of the table. He tossed it from one hand to the other.

"Have I now? Thank you for informing me. I shall file that information in the appropriate place." Hawke smiled, lips tight. She was angry but intrigued. "Now tell me who you are."

"I'm that man who saved your neck from the hangman's noose." He palmed the peach and picked up a small but priceless Antivan vase, hooking one finger inside the neck and carrying it with him as he walked.

"I'm the man who convinced the Archon you should be working for him instead of being thrown in jail for murdering another magister in an unsanctioned duel." The mage shot Sofira a meaningful look before continuing his meander through the library.

Stopping in front of one bookshelf, he ran his free hand over the back of an elephant carved in greenstone. Then he picked that up too. He shifted the three items in his grip and, one by one, tossed them in the air and proceeded to juggle.

"Put those down," said Sofira.

"Don't get your smalls in a bunch, Hawke. You haven't been around these things long enough to become attached to them. And that may be a good thing, since what happens next will determine if you get to keep them or not."

She frowned. "Then, perhaps you'd best get to it, whoever you are. I wasn't in the best mood before you arrived. Now, I'm getting cranky."

"You see, this is why young women shouldn't be made magisters. Your youth and your gender are two strikes against you. You're too impetuous."

Sofira refused to be baited by such a cheap insult. He was testing her and she knew it.

The blue-robed mage smirked. He gave the peach, the vase and the elephant one more toss each and set them on a stand under a reading lantern. Then he flopped into the nearest chair, throwing his right leg over the armrest.

"My name is Trasaric."

"Trasaric... _you_ talked to Danarius' apprentice, Hadriana. You were at Danarius' table three nights ago," said Sofira, recognizing him at last. That night, he'd been hanging back, not displaying the forceful nature she was seeing now. He seemed a completely different person.

"Yes, I was there." He tilted his head to rest against the chairback and gazed down his nose at her. "You made quite the impression on all of us. I've been busy putting out the fires you've started, trying to downplay this whole mess, paying bribes, getting the official papers in order to backdate the sanctioning of your duel... you owe me your first born, by the way. At least."

Sofira opened her mouth to retort but he held up a hand. "No, don't speak. Listen. If you don't do as I ask, I will conveniently 'lose' those official papers and you will be executed as an example to anyone else who would think to flout our system. What made you think you could just waltz in here and kill Danarius in his own home?"

"That monster killed my sister!" she cried.

"No one cares about that," he said, eyes cold. "People die all the time. But, when a magister turns into a vigilante, that's a problem."

"She didn't die, Trasaric. She was murdered. What is wrong with this city? A beautiful, innocent, young woman is slain in the street and no one bats an eyelash?" she said, voice shaking with emotion. "No one came to me asking questions, trying to find her killer. I had to do it myself! Is the life of an old, sadistic, ruthless pig of a man so more valuable here, just because he's a magister?"

Sofira's eyes flashed with a dark fire. She took a step towards Trasaric, but her thigh bumped into the reading table between them. In her anger, she'd forgotten it was there.

_Breathe, Sofi. Get control of yourself._

"Hawke, think about it. We can't have magisters running around murdering each other because one of us has a personal vendetta against another. The Senate would be empty within a month. We have an empire to build. We have Qunari to fight! Whatever our differences, we need each other. You're not in Kirkwall anymore, you're in Minrathous. You need to start acting like you belong here."

He sat forward, his face stern. "If my presence annoys you... you have only yourself to blame. Your act of blind vengeance has landed you in my lap."

"Trasaric, you're an ass. I'm not going anywhere near your lap."

"Good. You're not my type, Hawke. But you will be performing favors for the Archon."

Sofira rested her hands on the reading table. "This doesn't add up. You're just another magister like me. If the Archon is so outraged by my actions, why didn't he send his personal guard? Why send you? And why did you do all these things to clear my name? What are you, some kind of secret... agent?"

Trasaric arched an eyebrow. "Yes."

She stared. He looked serious.

"You? Are an agent of the Archon himself?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don't ask me a third time."

"Fine," she said, still not convinced this wasn't the trick of another manipulative magister. Tevinter seemed to be crawling with them. "Tell me why an Imperial agent would step in to help me."

"Look, Hawke, you basically just shoved your staff up your own ass and said, 'Hey everybody, watch this!' No surprise your trick backfired. Luckily, where Danarius' _other_ guests saw a renegade magister lose all sense of propriety, I saw a golden opportunity. This isn't just about you. This could benefit us both.

"You've got a lot of potential, you just don't have the knowledge that comes from a lifetime of swimming in Minrathous political waters. I don't know if you know this, but you weren't very popular even before that little incident with Danarius. The only reason you got the Senate seat was that you were conveniently in the right place at the right time."

Hawke sneered. "I won the Senate seat because of my contributions, Trasaric, and my family name. Don't think you can convince me otherwise."

"You're so naive. You think you got that seat because you wrote a _book_? Because you can amplify magic? Yes, I read your book. I'll admit it's a nice trick but no, that's not why you got the seat. And it's not because you're from a noble family line. The only impressive person to come out of the Amell line was the Hero of Ferelden. The rest of your family has been a bunch of screw ups. You're certainly no hero either."

"No, the reason you got the seat was that Senator Amantius and Senator Nilus split the vote over their favorites. Well... that and no one wanted to give a seat to that idiot, Gordian...

"So, against the odds, you _get_ your seat. And the first day of session, what do you say to the Senate assembly? 'We need to enforce the laws against blood magic! Give the slaves rights!' Then, not even three weeks later, you murder another magister and set his slaves free?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Woman, you're a walking explosive! Have you ever heard of a little thing called 'diplomacy'? That's how you get things done without pissing off powerful people or getting arrested for murder. This is not exactly a freedom-friendly state. Did you know that the last archon who tried to outlaw slavery was assassinated? You can't just show up and expect things to change to suit your delicate sensibilities.

"Luckily for you, I am willing to try and mold you into a true citizen of Tevinter. Today, you're a pawn. Tomorrow, you could become a queen... with the right backing. But I get ahead of myself. I still haven't told you how you're going to pay back the Archon for his generosity."

"No," Sofira said, "I'm still waiting for that bit."

"To start, you're going to stay away from the Senate house until I say you can step back inside. And you're going to keep your mouth shut so you don't do any more damage. There's only so much disaster I can sweep under the rug and you're already at my limit. Besides, you're going to be too busy to cause trouble anyway."

Hawke spoke with caution. "You want me to do more than keep my mouth shut."

"See? I knew there was more to you than pretty doe eyes and self-destructive tendencies." He shook his index finger at her.

"Here's the thing. The man you killed was involved in the trade of illegal artifacts, some of which I see in this room, in fact, but most of them were small time, money-making ventures. I don't care about those. Then Danarius' name started popping up in connection to some _very_ rare Qunari artifacts. I think he was trying to collect pieces of great value to the Qunari, either to use as bargaining chips to vault himself higher in the Senate or... possibly to set up some kind of traitorous relationship with Qunari leaders. Either way, it was highly illegal.

"I've been ingratiating myself to that animal for four years trying to get into his inner circle. I don't know if he suspected me but my progress was slow. And then, you came along and set me back... I can't even estimate how much.

"So now you're going to make it up to me. You're a resourceful woman. You managed to become a magister within two years of moving to Minrathous and you have connections to the southern lands. Maybe you can do what I could not.

"For your first assignment, I'm giving you two choices. Either bring me some useful information regarding what Danarius was up to... or turn in your mage friend, the abomination."

Sofira snorted. "If you think I'm going to give a friend over to you, you're insane. I don't care what you threaten to do to me."

"Then you'd better find me some good information, Hawke." His showed his teeth. "But you should know that I will not have an abomination running free in my city. I will find him and I will bring him in. This is not open for negotiation."

"You can't have him, Trasaric. Anders is an invaluable member of my team. I cannot do what you ask without him."

"Find a way."

Brown eyes met blue in a contest of wills.

"If you had Anders, what would you do with him?" she asked.

"Why do you care what happens to him? Are you lovers?" Trasaric squinted at her, trying to read her motives. "He's no longer a man. You must see that."

"He's unique, not an abomination," she said. "And he's my friend. So I need to know. What would you do with him?"

He considered for a moment. "Perhaps just keep him locked up as long as you behave. I'm not bloodthirsty. As long as he's in a secure place where he can't cause anyone harm...

"Although he did expose his demon side to a lot of magisters the other night. They're calling for his capture and execution. There's only so much I can do. It's in your best interest to turn him in. That would be the best for your reputation in the Senate, especially in light of everything else. I suppose I could say you didn't know."

"I won't do that, Trasaric."

"Then bring me some useful information. I'll give you one week. If, by the end of that week, you haven't found anything, consider turning in this Anders person. Bring him to me and I may spare his life. If I have to expend my own resources to find him, I will not be so charitable.

"Don't disappoint me, Magister Hawke. I took a chance on you and now I must bring the Archon _something_ to prove you are worth all my efforts. He is not a patient man. If you don't deliver, I will have no choice but to see you hanged in the gallows to protect my own position."

Trasaric stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes. "Oh, yes. Do not try to leave Minrathous or our deal is off."

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A/N: In my head, Magister/Agent Trasaric is played by Ed Norton.


	10. One of Those Days, Part 2

_THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><em>Characters_: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><em>Setting_: Tevinter Imperium  
><em>__Thanks____: No betas on this chapter so I apologize if there are more errors than usual. Thanks to all of you for your patience and your comments. Hearing from you makes my day. Reviews are love! __

__(Oh and it's mah birthday today! August 10th - and here I am posting chapter 10...coincidence? Hmmm.)  
><em>_

__.__

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: One of Those Days, Part 2<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

After their unfriendly chat, Sofira followed Magister Trasaric back to her dining hall and waited as he picked through the assembly looking for Anders. The baleful blue of his eyes bore into every face. Most of the men, women and children cowered innocently enough under his glare.

Two did not.

Hawke tensed as Trasaric approached Fenris. The elf submitted to the magister's gaze with the bare minimum of respect, bowing his head only slightly. He kept his eyes on the magister's body, watching the man's movements without any sign of fear. Hawke had the impression they were stalking each other. Whether this came from familiarity or something else, she didn't know. Luckily, it didn't seem to bother the Archon's agent either way and he soon moved on.

Sofira quietly let out the breath she'd been holding, grateful that Trasaric hadn't thought to ask the elf where Anders was. After yesterday... well, she wasn't sure how that would have gone.

Aveline, holding Bellator's collar and standing proudly at attention, had also drawn the magister's scrutiny. He didn't seem to approve of the way she met his eyes, nor the fact that she didn't jump when he barked, "_Name!_" in her ear. She'd given it to him with her title, "_Guard-Captain Aveline_," but without a Ser to follow. Hawke could see him filing this information away, as he registered her snub with a tightening of his lips.

When it was clear none of those assembled was the healer in disguise, he shot Sofira a meaningful glance and led his troops out of the mansion.

Trasaric was gone.

The echo of metal boots marching on flagstones still rang in her ears. So cliché. It would have been funny except that it wasn't. At all. Trasaric had given her one week to find a lead on relics that he hadn't been able to recover in all the time he'd been spying on Danarius. Or she could turn in Anders for execution. If neither of those happened, she would be taken to the government gallows and hung until dead. Three possibilities - all shit.

She let out another slow breath. At least she was now officially sober, any residual alcohol affects driven from her body by the harsh whip of reality.

Hawke looked to Aveline, who gave her friend a bolstering nod and released her grip on Bellator's collar. It was like firing an arrow.

The beast bounded over to his mistress, stubby tail wagging so hard he ended up running sideways and missing his mark. He skidded to a stop, turned around and came gamboling back, pushing his massive head into Sofira's outstretched hands. She cooed for him, sending him into deeper fits of wriggling as she scratched her nails through the fur covering his thickly-muscled neck and shoulders.

"Who's my good boy? Those bad men didn't hurt you, did they?"

He woofed.

She took comfort in the feel of his warm body pressing into her side and looked up, but Aveline was no longer where she'd been.

As Sofira scanned the crowd, the dramatic dark and light of Fenris' shape caught her attention. He was leaning back against the wall now, brooding. The elf seemed self-bound by the tight grip of his crossed arms. Sofira didn't see any marks of combat on his skin. Except for the dark circles around his eyes, he seemed none the worse for wear. It couldn't have been easy for him to hold back during an invasion to his master's estate but she was glad he had showed discretion. Bloodshed would certainly have made this situation far worse than it already was.

A flash of light drew her eye - Aveline's meticulously polished armor. The Guard-Captain was speaking to four of her men in hushed tones, gesticulating in short, angry jerks. Hawke guessed the red head's comments weren't complimentary, judging from the expressions of shame on their faces. Good. Hawke had a few choice words selected for them as well.

Merrill and Tuela were comforting the children. Merrill knelt before one sniffling tot, wiping away a tear with her fingertips and coaxing out a tentative little smile. Tuela ruffled the heads of the two clinging to her skirts. The last two children, dark-haired girls, held hands as one on the left rocked back and forth on her heels. They had similar features leading Sofira to assume a kinship existed between them. For a heartbeat, she gazed at them wistfully.

Trasaric's damned soldiers had even dragged the poor chambermaid Yulian out of her recovery bed. Aran had her arms around the girl. Sofira could see the housekeeper's lips moving, whispering words of encouragement.

The rest of the assemblage looked up at their mistress, waiting. Sofira's leader instincts wanted to offer them comforting words but the indignation churning in her gut refused to recede.

"The excitement is over. Everyone back to your duties. Aveline! A word with you."

Hawke frowned at the way her voice conveyed a harshness she hadn't intended, as if Trasaric's brusque manner had settled in her throat. If only to prove to herself that she was not becoming yet another heartless magister, she added a "please".

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Are my guardsmen unclear on the concept of guarding? They're supposed prevent people from entering without my permission, not throw open the gates and invite everyone in! First Hadriana, now this bastard and his brute squad."

They'd retreated to the small armory where Hawke had spoken with Fenris the day before. Bellator huffed his disfavor at the mention of Danarius' apprentice.

"I know, Hawke," said Aveline, nodding. "I know. I told them yesterday that Hadriana is no longer welcome here, but it's against Tevinter law to refuse anyone bearing the Archon's seal. They had no choice but to let that man in. I just told them that, if it happens again, to stall him and come find me.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. It's a learning process for them. They're all so inexperienced..."

"Bunch of milquetoasts, you mean. Fantastic. Just what I need guarding my property. Do me a favor, when you hire more men, find me some bigger, nastier-looking types. Preferably the kind who bite the heads off puppies when they're bored! Maybe that will keep people away."

Bellator lifted an ear and whined.

Aveline raised her eyebrows. "You really want me to hire men like that?"

Sofira chewed her lip.

"No..." she said softly, patting the mabari on his head. Aveline didn't deserve her anger. She'd done this to herself. Bethany was avenged but... she didn't feel any better and now things were even worse than before. How was she going to fix this without anyone else she cared about dying?

Hawke clenched her fists, wanting to punch someone. Trasaric's face sprang to mind. Uttering a sharp, guttural shout, she whirled around and smacked her palms against a tower of crates stacked against the wall. Between her hands was a dark knot marring the otherwise uniform surface of ashen brown. She leaned her forehead until it touched wood and closed her eyes.

There was a clicking of nail on stone. She felt Bellator press his head into her side.

"Come on, Hawke, how bad can it be?" asked Aveline, offering a weak smile.

Sofira took a deep breath.

"That mage bearing the Archon's seal? He's an Imperial agent named Trasaric. Apparently, Danarius was trying to acquire some rare Qunari artifacts for his own nefarious purposes and Trasaric got assigned to watch him. Unfortunately, Trasaric did a piss poor job of finding any hard evidence.

"Enter: me... I break the golden rule that magisters don't duel magisters without a writ, and suddenly Trasaric's connection to the artifacts is lying on the floor with a knife through his throat.

"As you can imagine, this has placed me at the tippity top of Trasaric's shit list. So, if I want to avoid being hung in the gallows, I must find these artifacts. Oh, yes, and I have one week to get a solid lead."

"Oh," said the guardswoman. "Is that all..."

"Actually, no." Sofira pushed herself away from the crates and faced her companion. "Trasaric was at Danarius' banquet the other night. He saw Justice so, of course, he thinks Anders is an abomination and he wants me to turn him in for confinement, possibly execution."

"Maker," breathed Aveline, green eyes wide. "That'll teach me to joke."

"My friend, if we didn't have humor, we'd all have fallen on our own blades years ago. Don't give up on me now."

"Oh, no. Of course not."

They stood in silence, the weight of the situation settling on both of them.

After a moment, Aveline asked, "If Danarius is dead, why do you still need to find these artifacts? Didn't the threat die with the man?"

"Trasaric didn't say but I would not be surprised if Danarius had accomplices. If so, one of them might see his death as an opportunity for personal advancement. As Isabela would say, 'Take over the plan, do whatever Danarius was planning to do with those artifacts, and then profit!'"

"Makes sense," Aveline said. "I wonder if anyone here might have been in on it. Or, maybe they overheard something. They could help you."

"Yes, I agree. We should question anyone who knew Danarius, servants, known associates... family, if he has any, if he didn't already kill and eat them long ago." She paused, hoping for a smile from her friend, but Aveline only looked more distraught so she simply went into planning. They would both feel better with a plan in place anyway. "First, we need to find Anders and make sure he's safe. If I leave the mansion, I'm sure to be followed. Maybe we could send teams out in different directions? Then, one of us could get to The Grey Lady."

The Guard-Captain frowned. "How many teams? I assume you mean to use the guard but don't forget the property is barely protected as it is and you have other enemies. Or were you thinking of sending servants and children?"

"No, of course not! Maker's tits, Aveline, I'm just thinking out loud." Hawke leaned back against the crates and chewed at a fingernail.

"Hawke, I hate to say it but this feels like a test. Trasaric came here with a full squad of guards, intending to ruffle your feathers. If you go flying off to rescue Anders, he'll know he can control you through intimidation and he'll use that to manipulate you. He's probably out there right now watching you to see what you do. If you do nothing, he learns nothing."

"Well, I can't wait for Anders to come back on his own either. If I did, Trasaric would know for sure I was harboring a fugitive."

Aveline swore. The last time Hawke had heard her friend swear was back in Kirkwall just after Anders blew up the Knight-Commander's office. When Aveline swore, things were really bad.

Sofira went to her friend and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Don't despair. Anders could already be stashed somewhere safe. It's possible that Varric heard about Trasaric's plans to raid the mansion through his contacts. We don't know."

"No, we don't know. Shouldn't you have a crystal ball or something? You're a mage," said Aveline.

Bellator whined, cocking his head.

"Yes, a mage... not a fortune-peddling gypsy," Sofira said, resting her other hand on the mabari's broad back. "Let's find Merrill and get her opinion. She's good at thinking outside the box. Also, Aran and Fenris. They need to know what's going on."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"So everyone knows their part?" asked Hawke, looking at each of her co-conspirators in turn.

Aveline nodded. "You and I will head for Lowtown. Trasaric will think you're being impulsive and running off to save your friend. If he's out there, he should follow us."

Merrill picked up where the warrior left off. "Fenris and I will wait until you are gone, then we will head for The Grey Lady with a cart load of Danarius' things. If anyone stops us, we'll say we're going to the docks to find a buyer for them.

"Fenris will wait with the cart on the docks bridge near the merchants stalls while I go to The Grey Lady. One of us is bound to find Anders. Then we stash him in the cart and bring him back here. Simple! I hope."

Merrill looked pleased with herself, having recited all the details of their plan.

Sofira looked at Aran.

"If Ser Anders shows up here, I will hide him in case Magister Trasaric comes back," said the housekeeper. "My Lady, would you like me to have Tuela postpone the feast tonight? Given the circumstances?"

Sofira grimaced. She'd forgotten all about the banquet to celebrate the servants' freedom. "That would be for the best, Aran. It's already been a trying day and we have no idea if it's going to get worse or better. Let's do it in two days, when we've got a better handle on things."

She smiled at Aran and then made eye contact with each of them. This was her team. She gazed upon Aveline's tough yet feminine features wherein she had placed her trust for so long, appreciated Merrill's youthful determination, and admired Aran's quiet elegance. As for Fenris, he was inscrutable even now, his eyes retreating from her inspection.

_Maker, he'd better not betray me._

"Okay," she said "Let's do it."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

It was hot here on the bridge and it wasn't yet midday. A bead of sweat rolled from Fenris' hairline, over his cheekbone and down to his jaw. There it rested, tickling his skin. Anyone else would have wiped it away. Fenris let it remain, resigned to it's presence the same way he endured the heat, the pounding in his head and the repulsive smell of fish which permeated the docks district. There'd been so little hardship to endure these last three days that these discomforts were strangely... comforting.

Everything else felt discordant. He was surrounded by the familiar and yet, it was all wrong, like walking on one's hands instead of one's feet. Everything was still there, just upside down. In a way, it was similar to waking up, wounded and masterless, surrounded by Fog Warriors. That had been odd. Painted men had stared down at him with equal parts caution and curiosity, jabbering to each other in their native language. He could still see them in his mind.

Today was like that.

He'd woken up hung-over for the first time in a soft bed, his bed. The hangover had been terrible, it still was, but he accepted the awful spinning and miserable pain as trophies of a free man. Alcohol was forbidden to the enslaved, as slaves must be ready to perform whatever services their masters required at any given moment. Only free men were allowed the luxury of drinking themselves to the point of errancy. Something about it felt decadent. Alive.

Other men might have cursed or whined or bemoaned their existence. Fenris had become used to much worse pain than this. By comparison, this was bearable, relatively brief and wouldn't even leave a scar. He would readily do it again if the chance ever represented itself, especially if...

_No, do not think of it._ The slave in him, the survivor, pressed the thought of _her_ out of his mind.

He wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead and then under his jaw only to feel new beads of sweat form almost instantly. It was a metaphor for his existence. Nothing ever really changed. For an instant, things might seem different - better - but that was an illusion.

Even when life changed drastically.

There were things happening now that he never could have predicted in his wildest dreams. That he now waited for an abomination to appear, one he'd been entrusted to aid and not kill, it smacked of insanity. Yet the cobbled stone beneath his feet was solid enough. And the sunlight beating down on his skin, that was real too.

_Danarius is dead._

The thought struck him sharply, like a blow. He'd been saying it periodically to himself ever since that night and each time it took on a different tenor. Curiosity - _Is he really dead?_ Disbelief - _He cannot be dead._ Shame - _I should have protected him._ Envy - _I should have been the one to kill him._ Shock - _He is really dead!_ Relief - _I am free of him._ Emptiness - _What am I if not Danarius' slave?_

He allowed his eyes to close for a minute, tilting his head back to feel the heat of the sun on his face. No one stopped him. No one struck him for his lack of a proper submissive downcast.

He, Fenris, stood alone on a bridge in the very heart of Minrathous... with no collar on.

His hand moved to his throat, feeling the bare skin. It was all real, no master barking commands at him, no collar, just a man on a bridge in the broad daylight. Mulling it over in his head, each individual point seemed to magnify the oddity of the next. He'd been free before, living among the Fog Warriors for months, but Danarius had come back for him and it had all dissolved like a dream.

_Danarius is dead._

Perhaps so, but how long would this brush with freedom last before the inevitable occurred, before the pressures of magisterial life broke his naive mistress and split her apart, releasing the monster within? Danarius was dead but he would return in another form. _Hers._

Only three days he'd known her and it had already started. At this very moment, she was somewhere in Lowtown, leading Magister Trasaric on a diversion. By tomorrow she would be dancing to the Archon's tune, searching for these relics. Before she knew it, she'd be wound round his finger so tightly the well-meaning person she was now would cease to exist. He knew it to be true, like the sky being blue and the sun being hot. He felt it so strongly, his chest hurt.

How could he feel so strongly about a woman he didn't know? A mage? A magister? Fenris growled at the soft feelings she stirred within him. They were entirely outside of anything he had ever experienced. He didn't like it.

_Stop this! Her fate is sealed as is my own. When her fall occurs, at least I will have a few good memories. _

But then he thought of the Fog Warriors and wondered if these recent events would also be spoiled by regret. He wondered what part he would play this time, when it all came crashing down.

_Danarius is dead. Perhaps..._

He scowled, driving down his errant thoughts. Hope was for children and the simple-minded. It was stupid to hope. Better to live in the moment.

Fenris grabbed onto the driver's seat plank of the ox cart and leapt up for a better view. Anders should be along soon unless they had missed him completely.

The elf scanned the crowd. To the north of the bridge lay the docks district, with it's battered grey buildings and it's briny streets. The district officially began at the end of the bridge with a cluster of merchant stalls squatting in a wide circle before the main street. There, sharp-voiced hawkers vied for the coin of passersby, holding up everything from failing, squawking gamebirds to bright bolts of fabric. Nothing here was as fine as what goods passed up to Hightown but it was a draw nonetheless. No one from the more well-heeled districts would have to venture too far past the bridge to find a bargain. And no sailor or street wretch had cause to set foot in mid-town, since everything a man of such station could want was obtainable inside district walls. It was well-planned that way.

On the other side, to the south of the bridge, lay the first block of white-washed stone buildings that made up mid-town. These were the homes of the middle class, shopkeepers and tradesmen, scholars and artisans, people who had made their own fortunes through sweat and stubborn perseverance. The feeling on this side of the bridge was completely different; quieter, calmer, cleaner. The shops here were permanent structures, decorated with bold designs and hanging signs that waved lazily in the warm breeze as pedestrians strolled by.

A youthful voice carried up over the city sounds to Fenris' ears.

"Dirt won't impress, scuffing won't do!  
>A copper per pair - they'll shine like new!"<p>

A red-haired elven boy plied his trade on the steps of a cobbler's storefront at one of the shops just past the end of the bridge in mid-town. He warbled his sing-song sales pitch, trying to line up another customer as his cleaning rag flew across the top of a gentleman's boot.

Four men in green and gold livery stopped as one of them seemed to consider the boy's offer. He said something to the boy and stuck out an armored foot. His companions laughed.

_Trasaric's men. _

Fenris crouched down on the driver's board of the oxcart and lowered his face, hoping to remain unnoticed. This would be the most inopportune time for the abomination to show which, from the elf's experience, meant it was that much more likely to happen. He glanced in the direction of the docks market stalls. And, sure enough, there was Anders, blond head bobbing just above the other shoppers, headed for the bridge.

"Venhedis!" Fenris cursed under his breath.

A surreptitious peek back at the magister's guardsmen told him that they hadn't moved. Then one of them sat down to allow the shoe shine boy do his job. That would buy a little time but the others, already bored, were looking around for something to entertain them while they waited.

Anders was drawing closer. Fenris could see his face now - a few more strides and he would be on the bridge.

The elf eased himself out of the driver's seat and walked toward the mage as quickly as he could without drawing attention. As he neared, Anders spotted him, recognition shifting into surprise.

"David!" said Fenris forcefully, selecting a common name. He herded Anders back around the corner of a merchant stall, out of line of sight. "Our mistress sent me to collect you."

The mage squinted suspiciously at the elf. "I wasn't aware I was expected... Stephanos."

Fenris growled. Trust this ass of a mage to choose the name of a famous eunuch for him. Even slaves had heard of Stephanos, the effeminate vocalist who could sing in three registers, all of them soprano. In fact, Danarius had gone to great expense to have the entertainer perform at one of his parties.

_Did he mean for me to understand? Or did he assume I would be too ignorant? _

Fenris wasn't sure which was more insulting. He briefly considered letting Trasaric's men have their prize. He could tell Mistress Hawke... _tell her what? That her beloved abomination has been taken? That I failed her? Fasta Vass! Where is that Dalish?_

"David," the elf intoned through clenched teeth, "there is very little time. You must come."

"Must I? You'll forgive me if I don't trust—"

Fenris stepped closer, words running together in his haste. "You are in grave danger. You are being hunted and our Lady has tasked me with bringing you back safely. If I must, I will take you back unconscious."

"You can try, elf." Anders whispered back. "How do I know this isn't a trick? You were so eager to see me gone yesterday."

"Would I willingly seek your company if not by her command?"

Anders considered this. "Grave danger, you say?"

"Grave and _imminent_," said Fenris, using a big word for the mage's benefit. "Four of the men hunting you are just on the other side of that bridge."

The mage's amber eyes glanced up, searching for proof of the elf's statement.

"Soldiers in green and gold," Fenris offered, giving the man a second to spot them but no more, as his sense of urgency spurred him to action. "The oxcart behind me is our transportation. There is a sailcloth among the crates. You will hide under it. Merrill will return shortly and we will leave. Do you understand?"

"Only four?" said the mage, eyes flickering blue.

"You... no, we cannot fight them," said Fenris, balling his fists, "Do you seek to bring more trouble to our Lady's doorstep?"

"Fine. But I better not wake up in Antiva tomorrow in my small clothes. Or in a templar dungeon. Or—"

"Just keep your head down," scowled the elf.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Making no sudden movements and using other people as cover, they managed to get to the cart unnoticed by Trasaric's guards. Other passersby didn't seem to pay them any attention as the two men climbed onto the cart to move a crate aside and then Anders disappeared.

"Do not move," said Fenris, squatting over the mage to tuck the sailcloth under his shoulder. He took note of Anders' shape under the canvas. With the padding of more cloth and a few of the smaller objects over his legs, it was not obvious that a man lay there.

"Ey, slave. What have you got there?"

Fenris flinched and turned. It was only a city guard, a heavy set man wearing a ridiculous kettle helmet, not one of Trasaric's men. Still, unwanted attention was... unwanted. Reflexively, the elf sat down in the cart, not wishing to appear unsubmissive by retaining a higher ground than a city guard. Unfortunately, he realized after the fact that, in his haste, he'd sat on Anders head. The roundness beneath him shifted. Fenris was fairly certain that bump was an ear and not a nose.

"What's all this stuff?" pressed the guard, nose hovering over the lip of the cart and looking around, but everything was either in a crate or covered by cloth.

"Nothing of importance, Messere. Some unwanted items my mistress is thinking to get rid of, some things she has been keeping around far too long." The dig was obvious but satisfying.

"You can't stay here, elf. This is a busy thoroughfare. Move along."

"I was ordered to wait here."

"Well, _my_ orders are to keep this bridge clear. Move along," the man's voice rose in irritation, attracting looks from a few passersby.

The city guard's command fell upon Fenris' elven ears like a weight, pulling at him. He fell forward onto his knees, dropping his chin to his chest.

_Say something. Stall for time._

"I..." he looked sideways quickly, combing the crowd of docks shoppers for a sign of the Dalish mage,"...beg you, Messere. My mistress will be most displeased if I—"

"Get your worthless hide off my bridge, slave! NOW!" bellowed the guard.

That did it.

Drawn by the man's shout and the lure of a possible fight, three of Trasaric's men sauntered over. The fourth, sabatons glimmering brilliantly, shoved the red-headed shoe shine boy out of his way and caught up to his comrades as they neared the cart.

"This slave giving you trouble, Serrah?" the largest one asked.

"Yea, I'll say he is! Won't move his stinking carcass off my bridge. I'm about to whip his hide." The guard's eyes were pricks of color inside circles of white, his face reddening.

"Who is your master, boy?" asked the youngest.

"That's Magister Danarius' slave, idiot. Look at his markings," said another.

"Magister Hawke's slave, you mean," said the large one, a weather-beaten man with thinning blond hair. He eyed Fenris and then the cart. "What's all this, slave?"

"He says it's things his mistress wants to be rid of," huffed the red-faced city guard.

"Then we should have a look. There might be something here we could take off her hands..." The big man reached for the nearest canvas and sought an edge with his fingers. Eyeing the lyrium-marked elf cautiously, he followed the edge to a corner bound down by twine and began to ply the knot.

Fenris glanced up, recognizing this man from the morning raid. His mind immediately raced through scenarios, eyes darting from one face to the next. He could easily kill all of these men but, as he had warned the mage, that would surely bring down the wrath of the city on his mistress. This situation required more grace. Unfortunately, his only grace he possessed was in the wide arc of a long blade. A look under that canvas would reveal nothing but what if they asked him to move? What if they insisted on searching the entire cart?

"Are you sure you want to be messing with that?"

The city guard and Trasaric's men turned to the new speaker, a beardless dwarf of all things. Behind the dwarf was a Dalish woman and a tall, heavily-muscled, human man. As the newcomers stepped closer, the man, a warrior by the look of the giant sword on his back, rested his thick arm on the driver's seat and leveled a dark gaze at the largest of Trasaric's men... the one untying the twine... the one slowly drawing his hands back from the twine and stepping away from the cart.

"Just who are you then?" asked the city guard.

The dwarf grinned.

"Varric Tethras is my name and that cart belongs to Magister Hawke, a dear friend of mine and a very temperamental woman. She won't appreciate you poking around in there, I assure you. Besides," said Varric, addressing Trasaric's guardsmen, "unless you have a whole lot of sovereigns, there's no point in groping at the merchandise, is there?

"You see these two crates here? Inside are highly-calibrated magical instruments. Very expensive, not to mention volatile if handled the wrong way. You could lose a lot more than just your eyebrows... and some of those parts you might miss, if you catch my drift."

"But he said they were just old things she was wanting to get rid of!" said the city guard, jabbing a square-tipped finger at Fenris, who wasn't looking quite so submissive anymore.

"Oh they are, my friend, they are," said Varric. "But she's a magister! They collect old magical things like you and I collect holes in our socks. Doesn't mean they don't still work."

The dwarf turned his attention to Fenris. "Everything all set, elf?"

"Yes. Nothing is missing. Everything is ready to go."

"Excellent! Well then, we'll just be on our way."

"Bah!" sputtered the city guardsman. "The next time you think to bring explosive objects through city streets... don't! You get me? Now, get this voidspawned oxcart off my bloody bridge. Go!"

Trasaric's men watched them leave, glowering.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

They couldn't have timed it better. Hawke and Aveline came within sight of estate just as the oxcart and it's four person escort were moving through the front gate, up the flagstone path towards the mansion.

The two women picked up their pace. As they approached the gate, Sofira waved to the guards and the gate reopened.

"Please tell me you had success!" she called, running towards the cart.

Varric turned. His lips bore a mischievous quirk. "No buyer for your antiques, Hawke, but we did pick you up a little something while we were out."

He hesitated, baiting her.

"Do you like corn nuts? Crunchy, salty, delicious snack. One of the street vendors was selling them and I thought—"

"May I please get out from under this sailcloth now? It's hot as flames under here!" Anders' voice came muffled from the bottom of the cart.

"Anders!" Hawke sprang onto the oxcart.

"Aww, Blondie," said Varric, chuckling, "couldn't you have waited a little longer?"

Spotting movement under one of the canvases, Sofira tugged at it until Anders was able to sit up and take a breath of fresh air.

"No!" he huffed. "Claustrophobic, remember? Maker's breath, that was dreadful!"

The mage's blond hair was mussed, his skin pink from the heat and lack of proper air flow. Still, seeing Sofira leaning over him looking very pleased to see him, brought a grin to his face.

"Oh, hello there," he said, eyes twinkling.

"Hi, yourself, you trouble-maker." Hawke placed her hands on either side of the mage's head, growling in frustration, and proceeded to really make a mess of his hair. Damn him for being so infuriating. Damn her for caring so much. "You bastard, I was so worried. Don't ever do that again!"

What "that" was, she wasn't able to define. _Don't act like a petulant child? Don't storm off to get drunk with my brother just because I share a bottle of wine with a handsome ex-slave? Don't make me wonder if you're alive or dead?_ Yes, all of it, especially that last bit. After all they'd been through together, she felt responsible for him. She'd brought him here to give him a second chance, not to see him arrested by some pompous magister. Or killed.

Anders, his face now obscured by long blond strands, stuck out his bottom lip and blew. A lock of hair waved up and settled differently enough to give him a thin view of his tormenter.

"For the sake of my vision, I'll try not to cause you further distress."

Carver snorted. "Yes, yes. We're _all_ safe. Thank you for your concern, sister."

"Ass," she said, trading glares with her sibling as Anders kicked the rest of the camouflage off his legs. "You don't know. A lot happened while you three were gone."

She helped the mage to his feet and they hopped off the back of the cart.

Varric faked a happy face. "Actually, Merrill filled us in on the big picture, complete with the Archon's lapdog, Qunari artifacts and death threats... although, personally, I'd prefer a pretty landscape with trees and mountains. I'd even take a velvet Cailan or a bunch of mabari playing Wicked Grace right about now. Your picture sucks."

"Indeed. Trasaric sounds like a real shit," said Carver, interjecting his own unique brand of vitriol. "He should be happy we got rid of a murderer."

"That's what I told him," said Sofira.

"So, what then? He didn't like you doing his job for him? Pissed you stole his thunder?"

"Not exactly. Trasaric's job was to find some illegal Qunari relics, not Bethany's killer."

"Still, he's so concerned about you breaking the law. He should damn well be concerned about a Magister murdering an innocent woman!"

Aveline looked like she was about to retort but Varric beat her to it.

"Junior, there wasn't any proof. That's why the city guard never did anything. I found one person who would admit to seeing Danarius go into that alley with Bethany. One. The only reason he told me was because of my darling Bianca's persuasive powers. There's no way he would have testified to it in court. And, even if he had, there wasn't enough evidence to convict a man of murder, especially not a magister like Danarius with sovereigns to burn. Void take him, we didn't even know if the old bastard really did it until he admitted it the other night!"

"I knew," seethed Carver.

"You wanted a target for your anger, brother. And so did I." Hawke sighed. Anders tried to put his arm around her shoulders but she was in no mood to be comforted and moved away.

"Even if we did find other evidence, or if one of his cronies verified the admission in court, there's no way Danarius is going to stand trial now," said Varric. "It's over, kids. The matter is closed."

There was an awkward pause as the finality of the dwarf's words descended on them.

Hawke's brown eyes hardened, resolved.

"I'm sorry you're all involved in this mess," she said, "but now is not the time for regrets. Trasaric wants those relics. We need to find them and keep Anders safe in the meantime.

"That doesn't mean everything else stops. On our jaunt through Lowtown, Aveline and I came up with a plan. I will be selling my house. This estate is more defensible - it's larger, better situated and keeping it makes a statement to my enemies in the Senate.

"The guardsmen, however, need some intensive training. Many of them are young and inexperienced. They're more of a showy deterrence than a real fighting force. Unfortunately, that's what we might need in the days to come. Aveline will do her best but she will be calling on all of you from time to time to help her with their training.

"Carver, Aveline will be drilling them in the mornings. Would you be willing to work with them in the afternoon?"

"I guess so but—"

"Good. Coordinate with Aveline. These men need to think and act like a cohesive fighting unit. They need confidence as well as skills and endurance."

"But you'll need me. Out there," said Carver, gesturing toward the front gate, voice plaintive.

"I seem to be racking up enemies, brother, and since you're family, that makes you a big target. I'd feel better if you were here, behind stone walls with lots of people around. We've already lost—"

"Oh, that's great. Keep me in one place so they know exactly where to find me."

"Carver, please. Your martial skills will be put to excellent use here. These men need you and I need to know you're safe... relatively speaking."

"I'm not a child," he said, temper flaring, "and I don't want you protecting me!"

Hawke pursed her lips. "I'm not backing down on this, brother."

"You never do, sister." Carver glared at her. "You'll get your way like always."

Varric sighed. "Junior..."

"Stay out of it, dwarf," said the younger Hawke, crossing his arms and scowling.

Sofira steeled her heart and turned to the bard. "Varric, my friend, you are going to be a very busy man. You will be my proxy. Take my seal and go to Caius Noor, the financier. Get me a detailed account of Danarius' holdings - a complete copy of his records if you can. I need to know what my resources are, what I should keep, what I can sell... it might also give us clues to find these relics. While you're there, find out if Ser Noor knows anything about Danarius' illegal dealings. I need names, people I can question.

"Then, I need you to put my old estate on the market. Take Aran with you and go through the house. I'll give you a list of what I want to keep and what will be sold with the property.

"Get in touch with Isabela and catch her up to speed on what's going on. Tell her to find out anything she can about Qunari relics moving through the docks district. What are people looking for? Who are the traders? What ships travel regularly to Seheron? I know she's busy getting The Siren's Promise ready to sail but..."

"Consider it done, Hawke," said Varric.

"Thank you, my friend." She gave a grateful smile. "Fenris?"

The elf, observing with feigned detachment up to this point, straightened. He welcomed another opportunity to prove himself.

"I need to know everywhere Danarius has gone and everyone he's had contact with in the last year. Make me a list."

An eyebrow raised. Lips parted. _Make a list? On paper?_

"I know it may be a long list. Do your best."

"It's not..." he tried to speak but she had moved on, leaving the elf to his internal struggles.

"Anders, we need to find a place to hide you. You will stay in my room until we find something better."

"Stay in your room?" A flame flickered in the mage's heart. He'd just finished pulling his hair back and replacing the leather strap but he ran his hand through his hair anyway in a nervous gesture.

"Of course," she said. "It's the safest room in the mansion, top floor, no windows..."

"Oh, no, I'm not arguing! It's a brilliant idea, but I warn you," he said, grinning, "I'm a snuggler."

Carver spat on the ground. "Don't even think about it, Anders. Any part of you that touches her gets cut off. Understand? Sofi, are you sure about this?"

Hawke flushed, commanding presence faltering for a moment as she glanced sideways at her brother. "I wasn't planning on being there. We'll just switch rooms."

Merrill piped up. "There's got to be a better place, Hawke. Trasaric could just raid the mansion again and find him. We should try to get him out of the city, don't you think? We could take him up into the High Reaches until this all blows over. Trasaric can't stay mad at you forever. Can he?"

"I'd feel better if we weren't separated," said Hawke, shaking her head. "Besides, we may need his healing services in the days to come now that Bethany is..."

There was a silence.

Fenris' deep voice filled the quiet space. "I know a place."

"Pftt! Yes, I'm sure you do." Anders looked doubtful.

"I am being serious, mage."

"I don't think you can be 'Serious Mage', you being a warrior and all," said Merrill.

Varric turned his back, shaking with laughter, as Carver rolled his eyes.

Hawke covered her mouth with her hand. "Where, Fenris?"

"It is here on the property, isolated, underground. I will show you."

"Isolated? Underground? That sounds like a dungeon." Anders' forehead furrowed. "Hawke, I won't be locked up. You know I can't..."

"We may not have a choice," she said, then asked the elf, "You're sure this place is safe?"

Fenris nodded once. "No one will find him, my Lady. It is secret. I am the only one besides Danarius to ever leave alive."

"Oh, that's not foreboding at all," said Anders, eyes narrowing. "This just gets better and better."

.

.

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><p><strong>AN** I apologize for the length of time that passed between this chapter and the last one. At first, I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to say. Then I found out I had gobs and gobs of things that had to happen before other things could happen. Writing takes on a life of it's own, you know? Anyway, I am back on the bandwagon (oxcart?) and the next chapter, Part 3 of One of Those Days, should be out soon. This is one hella long day for poor Hawke but it's almost over. Day four will be even more interesting, with lots of Fenris hotness. Thanks for reading! **Reviews are love!**


	11. One of Those Days, Part 3

_THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><em>Characters_: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><em>Setting_: Tevinter Imperium_

_Again, no betas on this chapter. If you spot any mistakes, please let me know as I'm sure I didn't catch them all. Reviews are love!_

_._

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: One of Those Days, Part 3<strong>

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><p>.<p>

The companions agreed to pause for a quick lunch, despite the nagging urgency each of them felt to get underway with their tasks. They would need to keep up their strength. Even a small mistake might spiral into a costly error and, with lives hanging in the balance, this was no time for such missteps in judgement.

Varric threw a hunk of whitefish between two pieces of bread and finished it in five big bites. Then he stood, strapped his trusty crossbow on his back, and, recalling Hawke's decree that they travel in pairs, stated with jaunty bravado that no other company would be necessary as he and Bianca made for an excellent team. He pictured Danarius' financier as a pot-bellied bookworm in an ill-fitting robe, probably dirt brown or some other dull color. If the man ever wielded anything bigger than a butter knife, it would be a surprise. Varric wasn't concerned about physical harm to his person and dwarves would always best humans when it came to finance. Plus, he'd be traveling in broad daylight. What was the worst that could happen?

He'd taken a whole step when Merrill sighed that an afternoon stroll did indeed sound lovely and wouldn't it be nice to explore those impressive government buildings? Suddenly, Varric had a sinking feeling and a change of heart. He wasn't about to let the Dalish mage wander Minrathous by herself and they were soon on their way to visit Caius Noor together, Hawke's seal in hand and her decree unbroken.

In between mouthfuls of fish and new potatoes, Carver questioned Aveline about the estate guardsmen. For all his initial reluctance, he'd since warmed to the idea of working with them. To have a real responsibility of his own, men depending on him to impart his expertise? Yes, this had enormous appeal. By the time he was done with his third plate, the young warrior felt he had a good plan in place. He would teach blades and fighting in pairs, as well as a variety of other things he'd learned during his military service in Ferelden. Aveline would handle the rest.

He would have left immediately to round up participants for his afternoon class but Aveline suggested giving them the afternoon off. The men needed some time to recover from their morning sparring session with Fenris, which had left most of them bruised and one of them unconscious before she'd intervened. Afternoon class could wait until tomorrow. Carver nodded, disappointed.

The young warrior already had a good sulk brewing when Aveline offered to walk with him around the perimeter instead. She could introduce him to the men on duty and spend some time getting to know them before Carver put them through their paces. That cheered him up and the two departed the dining hall to add their bodies to the guarding contingent outside.

While Hawke's friends ate in the next room, she had taken Anders back into the kitchens. If Magister Trasaric reappeared, she didn't want Anders out in the open. Fenris had followed them but maintained a distance, close enough to be useful if needed but far enough away to discourage conversation. Sofira let him be. Perhaps she could mediate a truce between the two men some other time.

Anders tried to maintain an air of cheer despite the circumstances but, inside, Justice railed at the idiocy of it all. Here in Tevinter, mages dictated the law and ruled with authority. He was having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that, even here, he was being persecuted. It mattered not whether Trasaric wanted him for being an abomination or a vigilante. There was no parity here. He'd put a well-deserved end to a politically corrupt, murdering blood mage, but did he even get a thank you? Of course not! Not that it surprised him. He was used to lopsided ethics from men in power. Still, it made no good sense to Anders and it kindled a dangerous, hungry fire in Justice.

He was determined not to let Hawke know, however. She was going through enough. It was evident in the tightness around her eyes and the hunch in her shoulders. At least her elven shadow was, for the moment, giving them some space. Fenris sat at the other end of the table, head down, quiet, and intent upon whatever was on his plate. This separation pleased Anders to no end, having Hawke more or less all to himself. As Hawke poked at her food with a knife, he tried to cheer her up by launching into a tale of one of his escapes from the Circle. Those always seemed to entertain her and she needed something light-hearted right now. With any luck, it would even stimulate her appetite.

Sofira tried to be polite but couldn't keep her mind on the story, instead watching the kitchen entrance and listening for sounds of intrusion. She ate a few bites of the mango Tuela had cut for her but barely tasted the wet hunks of fruit that slid down her throat. The sooner she found Anders a safe place to hide, the better.

As soon as the mage's tale came to its foregone conclusion, Sofira pushed back her plate. The dull grate of metal sliding over wood turned Fenris' head and their eyes met. As he sat back she could see that his own plate was clean, not even a crumb remained.

"My Lady, if you are finished? Time is not on your side." He stood.

As the elf moved towards the doorway, Anders gestured to Hawke's plate which was more than half full. "You can see she's not, Fenris. Give her a moment."

"I'm not hungry," said Sofira, noting Anders' disapproval. She knew she hadn't been eating enough lately but she didn't care to fight with him about it. She plastered on a smile. "Tonight, once you're safe, I'll have a big dinner. I promise. Why don't you gather whatever you need from your room and I'll come get you shortly?"

"Fine, but I'm going to hold you to that promise." The handsome mage gave her his best stern look before squeezing her shoulder and heading out the door.

Fenris side-stepped, avoiding a brush with Anders' arm.

"I'm ready," she said to the elf. "Show me this secret room."

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><p>.<p>

Fenris made for a silent guide, leading her up to her bedroom on the top floor. Inside, he moved to the left rear corner of the room, past the enormous fireplace, and pressed on one of the carved Tevinter roses that adorned the hardwood paneling. A door-shaped crack opened in the woodgrain. He pushed on the right side and it swung inwards, revealing daylight from the room beyond. The elf stepped back and waited, head bowed.

"That's been here all along? Why did you hide this from me?" asked Sofira, embarrassed. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before on her own.

"I hid nothing, my Lady. I simply did not reveal everything."

_Why not?_ she thought, perturbed by his answer. After a moment, Sofira came to two possible conclusions. "You didn't think I'd be around long enough to use it, did you? Or is there something you didn't want me to see?"

Her bodyguard reacted little except for the thinning of his lips.

_A little of both perhaps?_

Sofira heard a grinding sound close to her ears and realized she was clenching her jaw, hard. A wave of regret washed over her. Yes, she was feeling overwhelmed with stress but that didn't give her the right to take it out on her companions. Fenris had done everything she'd asked and more. He'd volunteered this secret when he didn't have to, to save someone he didn't seem to care for very much, just because it mattered to her. She regretted her hasty words, feeling like a monster for suspecting the worst of him, more so for blurting it out loud.

_Pull it together, Sofi._

"I'm sorry, Fenris. You didn't deserve that. I'm just..." She stopped and brought her hands to her forehead which she rubbed vigorously. Sighing, she let her arms fall and started over. "Are there many secret rooms like this?"

"Only this and the passages connected to it, which I will show you. If there are others, my Lady, I am unaware of them." He gazed at her, maintaining a neutral countenance.

"Very well," she said, wilting a little under his gaze. "Uh... thank you."

_"Uh?" Maker, you sound like an idiot. Just go. Anders is waiting._

She walked through the door into what appeared to be a mage's study. The smell of ash drew her attention left. There, set into the wall, was another fireplace and, past that, a huge, flat slab of black stone leaned against the corner, covered in chalk drawings and notes. Sofira tried to make out the scribbles but Danarius' handwriting wasn't the problem, they were simply unreadable, written in some unfamiliar language, or perhaps a code. Packed bookshelves made up the left wall and a long reading table stood before them, covered in books, scrolls, and small objects of interest.

The room was lit by three paned windows which made up the majority of the outer wall, letting in a generous wash of sunlight. It spilled onto the magnificent, cherry-colored desk and chair which occupied the center of the room. Four Tevinter elephants reared onto their hind legs as they hoisted the heavy desktop with their trunks.

In the far right corner, a spiral staircase led down and lastly, just to her right... _oh, Maker, thank you. Thank you!_ On the right, a bathing area made of polished stone with a basin large enough for at least two people.

_I have a big, beautiful bathtub! Praise be to all that is still right with this messed up world._

Fenris knew what this room contained and what it would mean to her, a new magister, to have years of Danarius' research dropped in her lap. He'd bowed his head as she passed him, closing his eyes. Part of him felt like a traitor to his old master, the mindless need to protect not only the man but his property burned into him from over a decade of service. Another part of him felt like a traitor to himself. By his own will, he had given this woman access to incredible power which she would no doubt use to further her own ends. It was inevitable. For that very reason, he'd done everything imaginable to prevent Hadriana from finding this room, and she'd not even been a magister.

Dread filled him. Anything that happened from this point on, any evil she committed with her newly acquired skills in blood magic would be his fault. Mistress Hawke must feel like a thief stumbling upon a high dragon's hoard. He let out a silent sigh and cursed at himself.

A horrible sound startled him out of his jaundiced lament. He'd been expecting a certain level of excitement from the woman, but he had not been prepared for the high pitched squeal which now emanated from her like steam from a boiling kettle. It hurt his ears.

Recovering from his involuntary cringe, he opened his eyes and received his second shock. Mistress Hawke had barely made it into the room. She was running her hands over the edge of the bathtub and gazing at it with a disconcerting level of adoration, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

Something was wrong with this picture.

Moving past his enthralled mistress, Fenris entered the room and looked about. Yes, it was as Danarius had left it. The chalk board was full of notes, the reading table with books. In fact, one of the magister's hand-written treatises on blood magic was still wide open on the desk. Peering at it, he could see the grotesque pictures drawn inside.

Perhaps she hadn't noticed any of it? That sounded ridiculous in his head but what other explanation was there? He wondered for a moment if she were truly a mage, not to be drawn to this trove of information like a moth to a flame.

He decided to state the obvious. "This was Danarius' private study, my Lady. It contains all of his research. No doubt you will find it useful..."

She didn't even look up. Her long dark hair fell forward, covering her profile, but her body was stretched out in the most intriguing way as she leaned into the bathtub, accentuating the firm curve of her ass and the length of her shapely legs. Leggings suited her.

_Not again. Cease this!_ He tried to clear his head.

"...could fit three of me into this thing," she was saying in hushed tones to no one in particular. Sofira reached down into the tub to touch the bottom, her whole arm disappearing from view. She breathed in. It was scrubbed clean and even smelled of soap. "Oh, you and I have a date tonight."

A sharp sensation lanced through Fenris' abdomen. _Date?_ He was the only other person in the room but her attention seemed to be on the bath. Did people make dates with bathtubs? Or did she in fact mean him? Fenris' imagination was quick to paint a scene; his mistress lounging in hot water, her hair piled on top of her head, a wine glass in her hand. Would she require his services? Would she ask him to pour more wine? In his mind, she looked up at him with those dark, lash-framed eyes, a small smile on her lips, her breasts only partly hidden by soapy water.

The room suddenly felt too small, the air thick and stifling. He cleared his throat.

At the sound, Sofira snapped back into the moment. She straightened, facing him. "What? Oh, yes, I guess I'll have to go through all that at some point, though it's not much use to me. Why didn't you tell me I had a bathtub? I've been washing up with a water-filled bowl and hand cloths for three days!"

Fenris couldn't believe his senses, though they had never lied to him before. She didn't care that she now possessed the personal research of one of the most powerful blood mages in Tevinter? This woman seemed bent on driving him mad with her strange ways. Once again, she had turned his neatly defined world upside down.

"I... You..." he said with a humiliating lack of clarity. _Vishante kaffar!_ Surely it was a simple enough task to respond to her question so why stutter like a fool? In his fear of her discovering Danarius' work, he hadn't even considered the washing area.

"It's all right," said Sofira, a bright smile blooming on her face. "I forgive you. You just made me the happiest woman in Thedas, how could I not? I guess men just don't think of bathtubs the same way women do."

Hadriana's sharp features sprang to Fenris' mind. She was a woman too, in theory, but he knew with complete certainty the bath would have mattered little to her.

"If you say so, my Lady."

"But this isn't what you had in mind, is it?" said Sofira, "It's not underground for one thing. Where is the space you mentioned? Down those stairs?"

The elf nodded and headed for the spiral staircase, eager to move on.

"I will show you."

They descended. The pleasant smoky, bookish scent of the mansion transitioned into something more sinister as they went. Odors of sulfur, copper, and human waste wove into the air, not quite overwhelming but impossible to ignore. It also became darker, the light from the room above fading to black.

"Danarius would light his staff at this point," she heard Fenris say.

"No staff here," she responded. "Did the man have something against lamps?"

Sofira could have sworn she heard the elf smile.

"I guess I could use a fire spell. Anything here flammable?"

"No, my Lady. Just stone."

Though she hadn't heard him move, Fenris' voice seemed to come from further down the stairwell than it had a moment ago. Sofira chuckled. Pulling energy from the air, a globe of flame popped into existence around her upheld fist.

"Human torch at your service," she said, hoping for another smile, preferably one she could see, but the elf was already moving down the steps. She had to hurry to catch up.

They followed the twisting stairs until Sofira's head swam from the circling. When they got to the bottom, she reached out to steady herself against the wall as her equilibrium recovered. A gritty, wet surface like rough river stones met her touch.

"You are ill, my Lady?"

"No, I'm okay. That was just... that was quite a lot of stairs... circling." She made a spinning motion with her free hand.

She heard Fenris smile and looked up, but it was gone. _Dammit, missed it again! It's like tracking some rare beast._

Then she saw the bones.

Fenris stood next to a skeleton, which hung on a chain from the ceiling, joints bound together with strips of copper colored wire. Behind it, four long strips of vellum had been stuck to the wall. She could make out anatomical notes detailing layers of muscle and fascia, arteries and nerves, even organs.

_What sort of a dungeon is this?_

On the other side of the stairwell was a desk and chair. These had none of the opulence of the mansion above, being only simple, sturdy lengths of hardwood nailed together. Looking up, Sofira noted the hewn blocks of mottled grey stone which formed the ceiling. They also made up the walls and floor. Under her feet, the stone was a light grey but, as her eyes moved away towards the other half of the room, the floor darkened to a color that beckoned to Sofira's sense of morbid curiosity.

She took two steps forward holding out her flame-enveloped hand.

"Talan," rumbled Fenris' voice behind her. Orbs of light, like the ones in her bed chamber, dawned in the four corners of the room and another directly over the center.

She gasped. Anders' suspicions had been too optimistic. It wasn't a dungeon. It was a torture chamber.

Shivering, Sofira dismissed her fire spell. A long table stood between to two smaller tables set with glittering metal instruments. The floor was lacquered dark, only a rough surface quality represented the stonework beneath.

As she approached, Sofira could feel the floor slanting gently. It created a horrible sense of being drawn forward. She moved closer still, the soles of her boots now coming away from the floor with a sickening, sticky snap. The long center table stood slightly lower than her waist. Five thick boards were arranged lengthwise to form the top surface, leaving narrow gaps between them. They were stained with irregular brown splashes which ran down between the cracks towards a metal grate in the floor beneath. Manacles were fitted at either end of the table and secured to the floor with heavy chains.

"Fenris..." Her voice was hoarse. She wanted to take a deep breath to calm her nerves but the smell of iron and decay assaulting her nostrils made her think better of it.

Instead, she cleared her throat and turned to see him waiting by the staircase. No surprise. This part of the floor must feel repulsive to his bare feet. Then she noticed the two doors on opposite sides of the room. Hopefully, they would lead somewhere nice and happy and, preferably, littered with hundreds of wriggling, yipping, soft-bellied puppies.

"Where do those lead?"

"That," Fenris pointed to the door on the south wall, "leads to a secret door in the wine cellar. The other leaves the property entirely. There is a trap door in an abandoned building next to the estate, a building which you also own, my Lady."

No puppies then. She sighed. "Did he use those exits often?"

"No, my Lady. There was never a need, but this is Tevinter. Danarius was wise to take precautions."

"Indeed," she said, wishing she didn't know exactly how true that was. "And you are certain none of the others know about these rooms?"

"To my knowledge, they do not. These rooms were reserved for his private research. Not even his apprentices were allowed here."

Sofira thought about that as she recalled his original description. _It is secret. I am the only one besides Danarius ever to leave alive._ A terrible suspicion coalesced in her mind.

"Is this where you received those markings?" she asked. _Please say no please say no please say—_

"Yes."

Her heart broke.

"I'm so sorry. How did he... what happened, Fenris?"

His green eyes met hers, challenging her for a heartbeat, then he looked away. "The truth is I know nothing of the ritual which placed these markings on me, my Lady. I only remember it for the agony it caused me. When it was finally over, whatever life I had before was gone. No memory remains."

Sofira's eyes widened. "Nothing at all?"

"That is correct."

Her mouth opened. And closed again. The cruelty of such an act was staggering. _Pure lyrium is poison to the body. To sustain it permanently in a man's skin... and without killing him?_ If she didn't have a living example standing before her, she never would have believed it possible.

Fenris shifted and Sofira realized she was staring.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, not knowing what else to say.

"No, I do not," he said, his voice lowering to an angry growl, marking a line he did not wish her to cross. "It is done."

Her eyes moved to the stones at his feet.

_No wonder he cannot accept his freedom. With no memories of his past to comfort him, slavery is all he's ever known. And this lyrium in his skin, every time he looks down it's there reminding him of his status. Maker, he's trapped! What can I do? How can I help him move past this?_

She felt helpless. Sofira Marian Hawke didn't like feeling helpless.

They stood in silence until the warrior spoke. "We should move on, my Lady."

"I was thinking exactly the same thing, Fenris," she said, looking at the bloody table, then up at the elf, a grin forming on her face. She clapped her hands together and the elf flinched as the sound reverberated off the walls. "Would you help me with something?"

"As you command, my Lady." His tone was wary.

"Excellent! Would you bring me an axe from the armory? The largest, sturdiest, sharpest one you can find, please."

He bowed and departed up the stairwell.

A few minutes later, came the sound of metal clanging against stone. It was intermittent and grew louder with each percussive ring until Fenris appeared at the base of the stairwell, a double-bladed greataxe slung over his shoulder.

Sitting cross-legged on the desk by the steps, Sofira smiled at him pleasantly.

"We won't be needing that anymore," she said, pointing at the dissection table. "Would you mind?"

Fenris' gaze passed from his mistress' earnest smile to the table and back again.

Sofira watched his face wondering if she'd made the right decision.

_Destroy it? Yes_, he thought, _I would enjoy that._

It was as if the sun had found a crack in the earth and sent a bright beam of light down into the room. Fenris' feral crouch disappeared as his back straightened with purpose. A crooked grin flashed, exposing white teeth. He reached the table in three long strides, swung the mighty axe up over his shoulder and down onto the center of the table, splitting it in half with a thunderous crack.

But he didn't cease his assault.

Sofira held up her sleeve to deflect flying splinters and watched him decimate the rest of it. Fenris' greataxe didn't cut so much as slam into the timbers, breaking them into smaller and smaller pieces. When a fragment flew up to lodge in his cheek, leaving a trail of scarlet to mark its insertion, he didn't even notice. He struck again and again until there was nothing left but scattered shards no bigger than a thumb.

Fenris stood, surveying the damage, looking for any more pieces to break but there were none. His breath came quickly from the exertion and there was a light sheen to his skin. He wore a funny expression on his face. It reminded her of a little boy who had found a fresh batch of cookies cooling on a windowsill and wickedly eaten them all.

_Don't worry, Fenris. Your secret is safe with me._

She hopped off the desk. "I don't know about you, but I feel better. Hold still, please."

Walking forward, Sofira reached out. Fenris regarded her approaching hand with great reservation but he did not move. She pinched the splinter tip protruding from his cheek between two fingernails, tugged, and it was out.

"There." She held up the bit of wood before his eyes so he could see she'd meant no harm. "Now it's time to get the others. Anders will be wondering what's become of us."

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><p>.<p>

A short time later, voices marked the presence of new guests descending down the spiraling stairwell to the torture chamber below.

"I'm sorry, Anders, but I had to make sure it would work!"

"I was waiting for an hour! Where is this place, Antiva?"

"Anders, shut up. Hawke is doing everything she can to help. Maker's breath, how many of these stairs are there?"

"I know she is, Aveline, and I'm thankful but..."

"Thank Fenris, Anders. I never would have found these rooms without him."

"That is not necessary, my Lady."

"Well, here we are! Home sweet home!" said Hawke, grinning broadly and opening her arms as the four companions emerged into the room.

Anders gasped, "Maker's—" And then coughed, "Breath!"

"It doesn't smell any worse than your clinic back in Darktown," said Aveline, looking around. Her boot stuck to the floor and she stopped. "Is that blood?"

Hawke followed her friend's gaze. "Yes, I'm afraid so. But we can clean that up! Some soap and some nice furniture and this place will be perfect!"

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

Anders surveyed the room as Hawke chattered away about its benefits. He noted the anatomical drawings, the skeleton and the dissection tools. Hovering over the remains of the table, he peered down into the long grate in the floor.

"I suppose that's my privy? Charming," he said in a low voice to himself. Chuckling bitterly, he added, "This is so ironic. I can't believe I'm willingly putting myself back in prison. That's a first."

Out of the corner of his eye, Anders caught Hawke's big, brown eyes fixed on him. He did a double take. Yes, she'd heard him. Of course she'd heard him. It's not like the room was that large. He felt like an idiot. Her shoulders were slouching, even the corners of her red lips were turning down.

_Oh, balls! I am an idiot. A bloody, ungrateful idiot._

"I mean, yes, it is perfect!" he amended, wishing he had the power of time travel. "We'll clean it up, bring in a bed and I'll live here happily for many years to come."

He tried to look genuinely grateful but... those walls. His chest was already tightening, his heart racing. The stones forming the chamber seemed to loom inwards, intent on crushing him. He focused on taking slow breaths in and out through his mouth despite the foul taste in the air.

"I know it's not ideal," she said, sighing, "but it will keep you safe while we figure out an alternative. Try not to think of it as a prison. Maybe you could think of it as your secret lair? You can fix it up any way you want..."

"Thank you." Anders offered a weak grin as he worked to control his panic.

"Let's get that soap first," said Aveline, wrinkling her nose.

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><p>.<p>

The rest of the afternoon passed into evening as the four companions worked to transform the chamber into an acceptable living space for a claustrophobic mage.

Cakes of soap, stiff brushes, and buckets of water were carried down to the underground chamber to clean the floors and walls. Table shards were carried outside to the bonfire site and burned, although Anders insisted on holding onto several of the dissection tools in case he needed to perform a surgery, explaining that they were still sharp and very well made. After a good scrub, he also kept one of the small tables and the desk.

A bed frame from one of the upstairs rooms was taken apart, transported down in pieces, and nailed back together. A mattress, two rugs, a small wardrobe and chest for personal effects were added. Sofira cannibalized her own bed, cutting off the sides of the hanging canopy and attaching them to the front and back walls of Anders new lair. With crimson cloth covering much of the stonework, the space seemed a little less "abattoir" and a little more "boudoir," still not Anders' style but definitely an improvement.

When they were finished, Hawke taught Anders how to work the globes of light and pronounced the room complete.

The four agreed that they would keep his hiding place to themselves. Not even Hawke's other companions would know. It wasn't an issue of trust, but rather one of practicality. The fewer who knew the better.

But now it was late. Varric and Merrill would be back soon, if they weren't already. Hawke promised Anders that she would return shortly with some food, then she, Aveline and Fenris headed up the stairs.

When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Anders inspected the space they had constructed together. It wasn't bad. It was certainly nicer than he'd expected it to turn out. If only it had a couple of windows for fresh air and sunlight, he might have been happy here. At least he could breathe again.

"My lair," he said, chuckling as he fingered an edge of the blood red cloth Hawke had cut from her own canopy bed. It was soft and sensual. He smiled.

Anders sat on the edge of his mattress. "For you, Hawke. Only for you."

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><p>.<p>

They fell upon their food like vultures, the day's exertions having given them each quite an appetite. Carver had joined them in the dining hall at the end of his watch, Bellator at his side. After an enthusiastic greeting, the mabari curled up on the floor by his mistress' feet.

Hawke made good on her promise to Anders, despite the mage's absence, and ate a full meal for the first time in a week. She even seemed to be giving her brother a run for his title until he reached for his second plate. There just wasn't any more room in her belly. Sofira sat back and groaned, patting her stomach. Carver wagged his eyebrows and grinned at her as he piled more roast boar on top of his greens.

"You'll never keep up with me, sister, but, I am happy to see you finally eating like a human. How will you ever get mother with grandchildren if you don't plump up that skinny frame?"

Hawke gasped and threw a dinner roll at him, which bounced off his head into Fenris outstretched hand. Without missing a beat, the elf brought it to his mouth and took a bite.

Sofira laughed with delight. "Nice catch!"

"Hey, look who we found!" Varric's cheerful voice bounced off the walls as he strode into the hall. In his arms, he carried a lidded box.

Isabela waved as they looked up. Merrill, her arm around the pirate's waist, gave the older woman a squeeze before parting and heading for a seat across from Hawke.

"I was told you were having fun without me," teased Isabela, sliding into a chair next to Fenris and giving him a wink. "Hi, there. How's freedom treating you?"

"Well," replied the elf, meaning it, though he clearly was not pleased by her hand on the arm of his chair.

Varric smirked, setting down the box. "Goodies for you, Hawke. All kinds of boring paperwork. Should make for some excellent bedtime reading - put you right to sleep."

"Could you sum up?" she asked.

"You have two estates, this one and another in Qarinus, but you have a whole bunch of smaller properties in many different cities. There's even one in Kirkwall of all places. Who knew? Other than that, you have a number of investments and there's this one guy who supposedly owes you money, but all of your taxes are paid up."

"Varric, I love you."

"Yea, I know." The dwarf set Bianca down next to his chair and reached for a plate. "Let's see, what's good tonight? Oh, yes! Isabela has a lead on your relics!"

Sofira's eyes shone. "You do?"

"Well," said the pirate, in a conspiratorial tone, "I just might know about a ship that makes regular supply runs between Minrathous and Seheron, and this ship might be scheduled to come back into port tomorrow. The Captain occasionally carries extra cargo for the right price and he might owe me a favor."

"But you said you were certain," said Merrill, perplexed.

"Isabela, I could kiss you!" exclaimed Sofira.

"Well it's about time," said Isabela, smirking. "Don't stop there."

"If your Captain turns out to be the lead we need, I will find an appropriate way to say thank you."

"Oh, I like the sound of that."

"But, now, I must be off. I have a date." Sofira stood, still smiling, and pushed back her chair. Eyebrows raised around the table. She filled a plate with food, picked up a knife and fork and added, "Enjoy your dinners! I'll see you in the morning for a trip down to the docks."

A chorus of half-voiced questions and a confused mabari trailed her to the door. At the threshold, Bellator stopped and looked back at the group, uncertain where he should be.

Fenris took one last bite before following after Hawke, causing another round of surprised notes and a whine of disappointment from Isabela.

Bellator watched the elf approach, stubby tail wagging. The movement of his rear end slowed as Fenris passed by and then stopped as the warrior disappeared through the door.

"Over here, Bells," called Aveline. "Sit by me."

"Huh!" said Varric, still staring after them in disbelief. "Well, I'll be a nug-humping, ore farmer. I thought Hawke was with Anders. Where is Blondie anyway?"

"No, Hawke was right here with us, not... oh. Oh! Hawke and Anders? Really?" Merrill's little eyebrows climbed up toward her hairline.

Varric nodded. "She tries to hide it but you can see the way he looks at her. And then there's the fact that we're all here in Minrathous. If she didn't bring us here just to save his magical ass, I'll eat my jacket."

"Ugh, can we not talk about that?" begged Carver, rolling his eyes. He turned his attention back to his food, picked up a thick slice of meat, and tossed it to Bellator. "Fenris follows her everywhere, like a mabari. She would never date him. He's an ex-slave. She's an Amell. It's inconceivable."

"I can conceive of it," said Isabela, leaning back in her chair. "That lean, muscled body, that brooding demeanor, those deep green eyes you could just fall into... Mmm. You know, it's the quiet ones that always seem to have the most to hide."

She giggled, holding up her hands, and then widened the distance between her palms.

"Sounds like your next book already has a hero," Varric said, chuckling, "but all that aside, our girl doesn't strike me as the snotty noble type."

Carver shrugged. "She's not, but mother would never approve and Sofira would never disappoint our mother. It's a noble or nothing this time around."

"Hawke isn't involved with anyone," said Aveline, throwing in her two coppers. "She's too responsible. She knows better than to get distracted from her duties and goals."

That made the pirate captain burst into laughter.

"Maybe you can live on discipline, General Man Hands, but Hawke is a woman of passions. With all the stress in her life, a distraction is exactly what she needs. Someone should give her a good stiff—"

"Isabela," said Carver, holding up a crumpled square of gravy-stained cloth, "I am going to take this napkin and stuff it in your mouth if you don't stop."

She leaned toward him, amber eyes flashing. "Kinky! And then what will you do?"

Carver's eyes dropped to her cleavage. "I would... I just..."

"You are so incredibly cute when you're fumbling with your words."

He found his tongue. "You say that like I'm harmless."

"As harmless as a pup that will someday grow into its fangs."

"Sure, keep teasing," said the young warrior, throwing down his napkin. "I'll show you how much of a pup I am."

Isabela smiled. "I know. That's why I do it."

"Anyway," said Varric, "I hope Hawke knows what she's doing. Now will someone tell me where Anders is?"

"Nope," said Aveline, picking up a square of cheese and popping it into her mouth.

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><p>.<p>

Fenris had offered to fill the bath for her, claiming that it was one of his duties for Danarius. Determined not to take advantage, and ever the stubborn woman, Sofira had insisted that she carry just as many of the buckets. She used the excuse that it would go faster with two of them. The responding flex of his jaw hadn't gone unnoticed.

Once they were done filling the bath, Fenris extinguished the enchanted globes and lit the candles he'd placed at the corners of the basin. Then, he stepped back and waited. It dawned on her that, as the only servant ever allowed into this secret space, he was placing himself at her disposal for the rest of the evening.

Sofira's heart skipped a beat. She'd been trying all day not to think of him in a sexual way, for many reasons, but the idea of getting naked in front of him filled her will all sorts of naughty possibilities. Seeing his handsome features in the flickering candlelight did not make her internal struggles any easier.

There was a rather awkward pause as she stumbled through a series of excuses. She wished to be alone. She was tired. He must be tired too. He should get some sleep and she'd see him in the morning. That's when she noticed that he seemed... disappointed? Maybe. It was hard to tell. He'd left quickly after that.

Sitting in her bath, she tipped her wine glass and swallowed the contents. Then she stretched out her legs in the warm water. Little eddies appeared on the surface, swirling away and disappearing. Reaching over the edge of the tub, she picked up a dark green bottle to refill her glass.

Settling back against the smooth, sloping side of the basin, Sofira thought about her new bodyguard and all the little expressions that the taciturn warrior displayed. He used so few words but his face said everything his tongue withheld. A pity really, considering what a deep, sensual voice he possessed, but she liked that she was getting to know these things about him.

The ripple in his jaw muscles when he held back his words, the tightening of his forehead and lips, a slight widening or narrowing of his rich, green eyes, the angle of his head... it was all there for her to read. She thought back to the times he'd been inscrutable. Sofira suspected he was actively hiding something from her and couldn't help but wonder what it was. These private rooms? His painful past? Some other dark secret?

He seemed upset when she didn't let him do things for her as he must have done for his former master. Yet, he shied away from her touch and kept himself at an emotional distance.

_A professional distance_ she reminded herself. _He thinks he's just a manservant to a magister. He probably doesn't even see me as a person. Well, there's more than one way to chip at that barrier. Tomorrow..._

She exhaled a long, slow breath. The warm bathwater was dulling her thoughts as it soothed her tired body. Maker, she had missed these simple comforts. At the moment, she felt almost normal.

It was... kind of...

Sofira looked around to make sure the silent-footed elf hadn't slipped into the room when she wasn't aware. Then she listened for footsteps on the stairs but heard nothing. It was late. Anders had probably gone to sleep.

Placing the wine glass on the flat lip of the basin, she sank down into the water and slipped a hand between her legs. At least this horrible day was going to end well.

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_A/N: Well, three weeks is better than six (like last time) but I had planned to get this out sooner so I apologize. In the end, I am doing this to learn how to write, so the quality is more important to me than pushing out story content as quickly as possible. I do, as always, appreciate your patience, dear readers! Please, let me know what you think! Oh and the scene I have been dying to share is coming in the next chapter. It's probably not what you think but I aim to make it interesting. hehehe **Reviews are LOVE! **-Tori_


	12. Something in Common

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium  
><span>Thanks<span>: To my mistake checker, Tom. I appreciate you.

Warning: This chapter contains more swear words than normal. Cover your eyes and hit the back button if that offends you. Or, read on, my brave little monkeys. You can handle it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: Something in Common<strong>

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><p>.<p>

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_The field of tiny yellow flowers is bright and borderless, like a sea of miniature suns under a crystal blue sky. There must be tens of thousands of them, faces dancing in the warm wash of white daylight. It is inviting, blinding, endless._

_There is a scream of delight, then a peal of laughter, like a cherub being tickled. Merrill is sitting on Fenris' shoulders, one hand wrapped around his forehead for balance while her other hand holds a pillow high. Though her bearer's silvery white hair is pressed down over one eye by Dalish fingers, his other eye is concentrating hard on their quarry, jaw set in grim determination._

_Carver runs at them, shouting like a madman. Perched on his broad shoulders, Isabela issues a war cry to match his, and whirls her own pillow overhead. Her pillow is larger than Merrill's, fluffier._

_Varric's good-natured voice comes next. He's trying to convince Aveline to bet with him on the outcome of the fight. There is another round of excited shouts from the combatants and he stomps a foot to get her attention before it is too late, but the sound is muffled by too many yellow petals._

_The Guard-Captain seems unaware that any of this is taking place. Her armor gleams in the sunlight as she stares off into the distance. She doesn't see the fight taking place or hear the cries of the participants. Rather, she seems very much alone, the living model of a hero with her hand on the pommel of her sword and her red hair shining in the sun._

_Varric's voice rises and falls. He's still talking, but not to Aveline. His eyes are fixed on some point directly in front of him, his hands animated._

_Sofira stirs in her sleep, wondering whom the dwarf is talking to._

_Is it Anders? Where is Anders? Anders is missing. I should look for him._

_He is no where in sight, but something shiny beckons to her from the ground near her feet. Fenris' greatsword lies in the flowers. He must have taken it off for the game. There is rust on the blade. No, not rust... dried blood. There is so much of it. Regardless, he shouldn't be without his weapon. Why is he without it?_

_Fenris is stealing glances at her, despite the battle taking place. He looks concerned. _

_"Do not!" he mouths in silence. There is a pause, and then the sound of his voice catches up to Sofira, rising up from within her, moving through her like the roar of a storm. Just as quickly, it's gone, leaving her feeling stunned, empty, and alone._

_Something comforts her. A familiar scent. Cookies?_

_"I baked them myself!" Leandra Amell looks flushed and proud, her belly distended. Mother has never made a cookie in her life and what in the Void is that... bump?_

_"Mother are you pregnant?" _

_The cookies and their homey smell disappear, replaced by a mix of sulfur, copper, and human waste. Where is Anders? I have to find him!_

_Leandra places one hand on the roundness of her abdomen. The other hand runs through her grey hair. "I just know it's a girl. I think I'll call her Bethany. What do you think?" _

_Clouds are rolling in quickly, turning the sky a dirty grey and dulling the yellow field into an ocean of sickness._

_Mother looks so happy. Bethany... it's a nice name. Just like her sister's name._

_Bethany._

_Oh, Maker! Mother! I have to tell her about Bethany!_

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><p>.<p>

Sofira's eyes popped open into the darkness. Sitting up, wide awake and alert, she clutched at her chest, feeling her heart beating fast against her ribcage.

"Talan." Six gentle suns dawned into existence at the height of her bed chamber.

She blinked as her eyes adjust to the light. The details of her dream were already fading but not the sense of guilt. In the dream, Mother's face had been so happy. She'd been young, beautiful, and smooth-skinned like when Sofira was a little girl.

_Bethany is gone. And I have to tell her. Andraste's flabby buttocks!_

Throwing off the heavy coverlet, she padded over to the wardrobe, stepping over the clothes she'd cast off the previous night. Oviana, the chambermaid, would probably be in shortly to clean anyway... but Mother would be disappointed. Growling, Sofira turned around, picked up the dirty clothes and stuffed them into the bottom of the wardrobe. She was not about to turn lazy just because she had servants.

_Just going to throw the damn things out anyway when I get my own clothes back. Hm. Maybe I should buy some new ones with Danarius' money? He does owe me a robe._

She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the first thing she touched. It was a grey sash.

_Well, I'm going to need more than that._

The next thing to come out was a sleeveless, peach colored tunic. The hem met her knees when she held it up against her body. As she dressed, her eyes were drawn to the Amell stationery on the night stand by her bed. Mother's letter, forgotten in yesterdays rush to get Anders back to the estate and safely hidden. She'd have a talk with Carver today.

Dread pooled in her belly.

Flipping though the other items in the wardrobe, she found a pair of leggings, dark brown this time and soft in texture. She hopped into them and pulled on her boots. Then, she cinched the tunic at the waist with the grey sash. It didn't match. She didn't care.

_I wonder what time it is? I should check on Anders._

Opening the secret door to the study, Sofira couldn't see anything. It was too dark. She hadn't expected it to be dark. Were the curtains down? She couldn't remember if they'd been drawn or open the night before.

"Talan?"

As the room lit, she could see furniture, bookshelves, and even her own reflection mirrored in the three large windows at the back of the room. Outside, it was night. A half moon lounged in center window like the eye of a spirit closing in sleep.

_Huh! I feel so rested and awake, I must've slept more than a few hours. Did I miss a day somehow? No, couldn't have. Someone would have come to wake me._

"Katara." The lights went out.

Sofira went back into her bed chambers, closing the secret door behind her, and walked out the front entrance. At the end of the corridor were the same two guards as before.

"Morning?" she said, uncertain if her greeting was accurate.

"My Lady!" said the chatty guard, Conon. "You're an early bird, aren't you?"

"I fear I'm turning into one. What time is it?"

"Just past four bells, my Lady. How are you feeling this morning?"

"I won't be needing you to hold my hair," she answered, smiling.

He smiled and winked back, much to the older guard's horror.

"Very well, gentlemen. As you were."

Heading down the stone staircase, Sofira felt so giddy she let out a bubbly laugh. For once in her life, she'd risen before her companions. The child in her wanted to run around waking them all up just to prove it. If Aveline knew, she'd have a bloody heart attack.

Sofira realized she probably had at least two or three hours to herself before breakfast. Might as well take advantage of the peace and quiet before everything all went to the wrong side of the Void like it usually did. Her mind wandered among the possibilities of how to spend her time. Go back to bed and lie down? _No, too awake._ Eat breakfast? _No, not hungry._ Go for a walk? _Maybe._ She was feeling strangely energetic... hm.

A sudden craving took hold. Excited, she turned and raced back to her room, grabbed her pikestaff from where it was leaning against one of the ornate gilded chairs - _Andraste's ass, those things are atrocious!_ - and then ran back down the hall. She waved as she passed the two guards and disappeared down the steps.

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><p>.<p>

Sofira whipped the pike around her body and caught it in her other arm, spinning it vertically. Sliding the pikeshaft through her hands to shift the length of it from one side to the other, she hit two different enemies and felt the butt of the blade stop against her left hand. She centered her weight, thrust out, pulled back, and thrust again at an angle, pulling with her left as she pushed with her right to strike the midline of an invisible opponent. Jumping the tip higher, she whacked her enemy in the face with enough force to break a nose or some teeth. Reversing her stance, she turned and butted an enemy behind her, before driving the shaft deep into his imaginary body, then she kicked up, slamming her boot into his chest to knock him away.

Yanking the weapon back, she dropped low and threw a wide arc to clear some space. She shuffled forward while her enemies retreated, hitting feet, ankles, shins. Satisfied with eight good fast hits, Sofira changed grips and whirled the pike over her head, standing up as the pike point swung down under her arm and then up behind her back. Using momentum, she brought it down hard onto the head of her last enemy, stunning him. Snarling, she buried the blade between his ribs.

Having finished off an invisible horde, she spun her pike overhead for two rotations, checking for hidden forces and, seeing none, stabbed the butt of the shaft into the ground. Her form was getting better but still needed some work.

It felt absolutely exhilarating to run drills like this. Between finding out Beth was missing and everything that had happened since avenging her death, there hadn't been time. No time and a ton of stress. Not the best combination. Setting up Anders' room, carrying all those things up and down the stairs, had reminded her how much her body craved physical activity and how useful it was in dealing with stress. She vowed to make time in the future, even if it meant changing her habits and rising before dawn. Well, she could try anyway. No sense making promises to herself that she couldn't keep.

Sofira checked the position of the half moon in the early morning sky. It sat heavily in it's dark bed amidst thousands of glinting starpoints. She figured a half bell had passed since she'd started. The air was cool and crisp compared to the daily heat, not quite as cool as Ferelden but close enough to feel a little like home. Taking a deep breath, she calmed her heartbeat for the next round.

Something moved nearby, startling her. A guard? She'd dismissed the night guard. The morning shift perhaps? The shadow moved again and she caught a glimpse of silver white hair.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long, my Lady," he said in his rich timbre.

"You should be resting, Fenris."

"And you should not be alone, my Lady. An assassin could—"

"Assassins now? And here I was just starting to relax. Wait, are you making a joke? It's hard to tell."

"I am not," he said, his tone adding weight to his words. "Minrathans are like wild dogs. They will come at you from many sides once they smell weakness."

"Weakness? I seem weak to you?" she asked crisply, picking up her pike and spinning it with one hand. It irked Sofira when people thought of her as weak because she was a woman, or small, or young, or whatever it was that they thought.

"Very well," she said, throwing away her pike and raising her fists. "Come on then."

He made a sound like a strangled stutter. "I... I meant no offense, my Lady. I will not disturb you further."

Fenris shook his head and backed away until she could no longer see him at all.

Lowering her hands, Sofira stood up out of her fighters crouch. "Are you afraid of me?"

"You are a mage," came his reply from the shadows near the wall of the mansion. "It would be folly not to fear you."

Sofira sighed. _Again? Well, I can understand where that comes from... still sucks oxballs though._

"Look, Fenris, you don't know me very well. And, I don't really know you either. If we're going to be fighting alongside each other, maybe we should get to know each other better. I mean, fighting-wise. You know?"

There was no response. She wondered if her Arcanum had been too poorly worded for him to understand, but she couldn't tell because she couldn't see his face.

"Would you please come out here where I can see you? I don't have the gift of elven vision."

Fenris materialized out of the darkness, his steps slow and silent. "My vision is not much better than yours, my Lady. Elven hearing is the only sense superior to a human's."

"Really? I'm sorry, I didn't know that. We didn't get many elves in Lothering. There were a few in the Ferelden army but they kept to themselves..." Her voice grew distant.

"Some of the human soldiers picked on them for being smaller. Of course, they tried that with me too, but after a few black eyes it didn't happen as much. Seems like everywhere I go, people assume the worst about me - I'm a woman, too young, a mage, Mother's a noble, I'm Fereldan - take your pick. I just wish they'd get to know me before they make up their minds about who I am. Why do people have this need to make assumptions or invent falsehoods about each other when they don't know the facts?"

"People learn from past experiences, my Lady. It is what keeps them alive."

"That's true," she said, exasperated, "but do you want to kill me?"

"My Lady?" His voice had taken a nervous edge as if sensing a trap. "My duty is to protect you."

"Excellent! I don't want to kill you either! So we don't need to worry about keeping ourselves alive in this instance, do we?"

Silence.

"And since we don't have to worry about dying, perhaps we can discard our assumptions in order to learn the truth about each other." She walked forward, stopping an arm's length in front of him and holding out her hand. "Hello. My name is Sofira Marian Hawke. I would like to be judged by my actions, not someone else's. Could you do that for me? Please?"

More silence. His eyes searched her moonlit face.

"Please?" she said once more, dropping her hand and looking up at him.

"You are... different from any mage I have ever known," he said at last.

"Well, that should make it a little easier." She smiled and was rewarded with a softening in the glittering hardness of his eyes.

"And you have been kind to me," he added. "I am grateful."

"Your happiness is mine, Fenris. Truly." She turned and walked back to her original position, picked up the pike, and threw it even further out of the way. Then she faced her bodyguard once more. "Now... I hear you were rough on my guards yesterday. Ready to take on someone your own size?"

"I cannot fight you, my Lady." His deep voice tightened, wary.

"You must. Things seem to happen around me, bad things... usually with big weapons and bad breath. Trust me, it's best if we get in a little practice before the real thing. We should get acquainted with each other's fighting styles and abilities. The sooner the better."

When he did not respond she continued.

"There will be a few rules. One, no magic today. I won't use mine and you won't use yours. Martial ability only. Two, I would appreciate it if you didn't try to kill me and in return I promise I won't go for your privates. Three, no hits to the eyes. I'd rather not have to rely on Anders for patching that up.

"Ready?" She brought up her fists and winked at him. "Let's see you try to kick my ass."

He didn't move. "That is not wise, my Lady."

"Okay, look, I'll give you a free one. Hit me." She lowered her arms. "I've been fighting with Carver since I was ten years old. I can take a hit. And he's twice your size."

"He is not."

Sofira bit back a smile. She'd gotten to him with that comment. Good. "Well, he's bigger. And he hits like a bloody ogre. Come on, how bad can it be?"

"You will cheat."

Biting down again, she shook her head. "I don't have to. This is how I fight, Fenris. You don't think you can take me without your magic? Is that it?"

"I do not use magic!"

"Your abilities are fueled by lyrium, are they not?" she shrugged her shoulders. "Seems to me, you're just about as much mage as I am, so—"

She barely had time to twist out of the way as he charged. If he'd been closer, she would have had no warning at all. Damn, Aveline was right. He was like lightning.

Sofira caught his left arm and stepped behind him as his momentum carried him past her. But he was already turning. So fast! She had to fall forward with all her body weight to prevent him from pulling out of her grasp. The sword on his back gave her a moment of panic but she managed to avoid cutting herself on it as she brought his arm behind him and leaned. They landed on the ground, in a billow of dust, she on his back with a blacksmith's grip on his arm. Wasting no time, she slid her feet under his ankles to lock his legs in place. His right arm couldn't do much where it was, sandwiched between the ground and his head, especially with her right hand clutched in his hair.

"Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, Fenris," she said softly into his ear.

He seemed to choke on the dust, coughed twice, then grit his teeth.

So close to him, she became aware of a scent, his scent, past the leather of his armor and the smell of the earth. It was a mild scent, not an odor... pleasant, but... indefinable, and... she breathed in again, more deeply. The fragrance of his skin was like nothing she'd ever experienced. There was a primal quality to it which called to her like a fire burning in the darkness. It was how she imagined wild beasts communicated in the season of thawing snow as they crawled out of their caves. They didn't need words, they just... knew each other. A wave of carnal desire stabbed through her body, making her stomach clench.

_What the... ? _

Sofira could feel her opponent testing her hold with small twists of his hips and legs. Shaking off her shock, she lifted his arm higher behind him and heard a satisfying grunt. If she kept going, the bone would leave its socket, but she didn't want to harm him. She'd only wanted to prove she wasn't a soft little girl mage. Mission accomplished. But, then, why wasn't she letting go? And, for that matter, why wasn't he surrendering?

"When you decide to give up, Fenris, just say 'yield' and I will release you. I have no desire to harm you."

"And if I never yield?" he asked, his voice hard and determined and... wrong. He shifted, bringing himself towards a dislocation to escape her hold.

Sofira gasped, releasing his arm as if burned, and scrambled off him before he could do something she'd regret. "I don't think dislocating your shoulder would teach you anything useful, Fenris!"

He rolled over and was on his feet in a flash, a dark look on his face. "Nothing new perhaps."

"Nothing new? What's that supposed to mean?"

The elf stared at her through a curtain of silver white hair as he rubbed the blood back into his shoulder. "Burns, sword cuts, broken bones - none of these things equal death, my Lady. I have learned to fight through such injuries in order to protect my master. I could have escaped your hold with three functioning limbs."

Sofira didn't know how to respond. There were too many things happening here. Their sudden separation left her craving further contact in a way that shocked her, and knowing he would have injured himself to escape her was no less disturbing. The scars interlacing his biceps markings seemed to glare at her. Maker's breath, the things he must have endured. Is that what Danarius had expected of him, or required of him? Demonstrations like that to prove his mettle and his loyalty? A shudder ran down her spine. What had she gotten herself into this time?

"That will not be necessary, Fenris." The way he was looking at her was predatory and challenging. She sensed he had more things to prove to her, but perhaps she'd gone too far. This felt like trouble, in more ways than one. "Maybe we should stop."

"I am fit to continue, my Lady" he said, unbuckling his sword, and laying it on the ground. Then, he released the straps on his gauntlets.

Sofira watched them fall beside his greatsword. Her heart jumped seeing the skin of his forearms laid bare. White lines trailed up from his fingers, over and under his hands, and wound around his arms like vines. They were beautiful. He was beautiful. She wanted to see more and, yet, she didn't. Certainly, she _shouldn't_. She groaned quietly, wondering if this would release more of his musk into the air.

"Unless... you are afraid of me?" He added, using her own words against her. If anyone else had said it, she'd think they were teasing her. With Fenris, she didn't know what to think.

_I'm going to regret this._

"Ready when you are," she said, keeping her voice as light as possible.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Fenris unfastened the hard leather shell which protected his upper torso and placed it on the ground next to his chestplate. Mistress Hawke was shaking out her left hand, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He pretended not to notice.

A mis-strike had crunched her thin bones against his armor, but she'd kept fighting anyway, her eyes full of pain. She'd launched into a series of fast jabs, driving him back, which then became a fury of forearms, elbows, and knees - he'd blocked them all, side stepped, and come up behind her. She'd swung her arm around and he'd leapt back, far out of her reach. Holding up his hands, he'd suggested she take a moment to recover.

Why he did this, he wasn't sure. He didn't fear her reprisal, didn't fear pain. But _her_ pain made him... uncomfortable. So now he was down to his tunic and armored leggings, looking much the same as her, though she still appeared more childlike than champion in her mismatched and oversized clothes. More castoffs from Danarius' closet no doubt. _She'll grow into them_ he thought bitterly.

_Perhaps we can discard our assumptions in order to learn the truth about each other._

Her words came back to him in retort, but it was impossible to ignore his feelings about magic. It would be foolish to pretend it was not a curse. What had magic ever touched that it did not spoil? Too many memories paraded before his mind's eye, too many to be insignificant or misunderstood.

_I would like to be judged by my actions, not someone else's._

For her, he would try, but only because of the person that she seemed to be. He would make this one exception because of everything she'd done for him, because she did seem different from every mage he had ever known, and because she had remained true to her word this morning and not used any magic during their match. In fact, she was a good fighter, more skilled than he would have thought a mage could be. It was admirable and... unsettling.

Everything about this woman was unsettling. Her casual manner, her eyes...

Her dark eyes were trained on him now, thoughtful and calculating. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of her self-inflicted injury, moving towards him like a cat in baggy clothing.

"Your master invested so much time in your training. Why treat his other guards differently?"

Even her voice was unsettling. It was like amber, smooth tones as beautiful as golden honey, hardened by confidence and her Fereldan accent. Though her question was direct, there were hints of other things floating between her words, underneath the surface. Under other circumstances he might be tempted to listen more closely and enjoy the sound of her voice, but now he could not allow himself to be distracted.

Instead he waited for her to spring. "They were not his true guard, my Lady. They were cattle. Expendable."

"You were his true guard?" she asked, throwing a punch.

"Yes." He avoided her blow, dodging and knocking her arm away with the palm of his hand as he came around behind her, striking his heel to the back of her knee. She fell to the ground. He jumped back and watched her get up.

"And... no. I suffered no illusions that Danarius needed me, my Lady. He could defend himself against almost any adversary. I believe he enjoyed the challenge of creating me. He enjoyed seeing how others reacted to me. I fought for him so that he could be free to observe the strengths and weaknesses of his enemies..."

She came at him, punching, sweeping his feet, spinning and kicking. He parried some with his forearms and shins, but mostly he just dodged, and avoided being where her blow was meant to land. He could see her frustration growing, unable to land a hit on him.

"...And he found it useful to have a walking bank of lyrium nearby at all times. A true magister will use any means at his disposal to further his goals. If he does not, he will be overcome by those who are stronger and more ruthless."

"That is one point of view," she said, throwing a wild punch which he dodged. But this was her plan. As he moved right, she jumped behind his body and pressed herself against him. Her arm swung up over his left shoulder and across his chest, curling her fingers under the edge of his tunic on the right.

"That is Tevinter, my Lady," he replied as he felt her other hand punch into his low back, forcing him to lean back onto her, off balance.

Grabbing at the arm across his chest, Fenris gave her his weight to bear for a heartbeat, lifting his legs and swinging them around to the left to break her hold and reverse their positions. His feet came down behind her and he pushed, knocking her forward, off balance. She stumbled and Fenris followed, pushing her again, running her towards the mansion wall.

As she crashed into the stone, he grabbed her flailing right arm, bringing it up over her shoulder. Leaning in, he let his left side hold her to the wall, his left elbow on the back of her neck, as he focused on her raised arm. He bent the elbow, and pressed down on her wrist.

She cried out in pain.

"Do you yield, my Lady?"

He couldn't help the satisfaction he felt at turning the tables on her. He, a lowly slave, had a mighty magister up against the wall of her own mansion, helpless. It thrilled him to feel her struggle for balance, as her free arm tried to find him. He could feel her fingers tapping against the back of his hip, useless.

Her body was warm. And fragrant. He could smell her bathsoap and... something else, feminine and... thoroughly intoxicating.

"If I never yield?" Her voice was thick with defiance. "Will you break my wrist?"

His heart beat faster. Had she ever broken a bone? Was this a lesson she wanted? It was almost as if she was making fun of him despite her compromised position. _Do not mistake my kindness for weakness._ He wasn't sure why it suddenly made him angry to think of these words. Was she challenging him?

"Perhaps I should, my Lady. Perhaps it would make you stronger in the end," he said, his voice sounding heavier and angrier to his ears than he would have thought to make it.

"Then do it."

His eyes widened for a heartbeat. With her face pressed sideways against the wall, he could see her fear, but there was also determination in the set of her jaw. She couldn't possibly know what she was saying. Was this some kind of trap?

"It will hurt quite a lot," Fenris warned.

"I know." Her voice was a whisper. The one eye he could see was wide and staring down the side of the wall, blinking, brighter than it was a moment ago. Tears were pooling, ready to spring forth as soon as her bones burst apart.

_Life is pain. It made me stronger. It could make her stronger. _ He would be doing her a favor. He would be doing himself a favor, for surely she would never treat him with kindness again and her anger would be easier to bear. He would prefer aloofness to this familiarity that seemed to be developing between them like a weed. It must be plucked.

"Prepare yourself," he said, to himself as much as to her.

_And here I die a fiery death._

He pressed on her wrist, hard and fast, and heard a sharp intake of breath as the pain gripped her... but he could not bring her to injury. Some part of him refused to do it. He froze.

_Where is the magefire?_ he wondered, nausea rising as he realized she had not been lying. She would have let him do it. It was as if the woman beneath him was no mage at all, just a... woman. Would she never cease to surprise him? Furious, he released her, not knowing whom exactly he was so enraged with.

"This serves no purpose! You would learn nothing! Your abomination would come running to heal you before you felt the first wave of pain!"

He walked away several steps, clenching his fists.

Her footsteps were slow and uneven as she came away from the wall. Her breathing was forced, as if she was trying to calm her heart. When she finally spoke, her voice was distant.

"Actually, you have taught me a great deal today, Fenris. I've learned that you don't give up easily, that you don't fear pain or injury, and that you can keep your wits about you in combat. All admirable qualities."

Her voice changed, becoming stronger. "And you've just taught me that your anger does not control you. You had a mage's fate in your hands. You showed mercy."

"A dangerous game," he snarled.

"A necessary test. None of my companions are perfect but I can depend on each and every one of them when it matters. I can't have a weak link in that chain, Fenris. For what it's worth, I am sorry, but I needed to know."

He turned to face her. "And if I had failed, and broken your wrist?"

The sky was turning pale blue, lifting away shadows as if they were heavy blankets which would only be a hindrance in the heat of the coming day. Standing, facing him in the dawning light, Mistress Hawke's dark eyes were pools of emotion. It stole Fenris' rage, and filled him with wonder at how she could be so beautiful in an old man's clothes, covered in dirt.

"I would have released you from my service and wished you well," she said, her amber voice soft and serious.

The blood drained from his face. Had it almost come to that?

"Then I am glad I passed."

She smiled weakly. "Me too."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Aveline walked out to the practice area with Bellator by her side, squinting into the bright light. The lazy morning sun had stopped for a rest atop the outer wall surrounding the estate. She could hear the sounds of wood strikes and, as she got closer, shuffling feet. Two figures were engaged in a staff fight on the small field.

It was good to see such enthusiasm in her men. She wondered who they were. Smiling, she held up her forearm to block out some of the sun's rays for a better view.

"Maker's breath... " she whispered, seeing the long dark hair she knew so well. "Hawke? Is that you?"

Sofira looked up and waved as her friend approached. Fenris stepped back and stood with his staff at the ready.

Aveline gazed from one to the other in amazement. "What's wrong with you, Hawke? Why are you up? It's not even seven bells. Did you not sleep?"

"Oh ha ha, Aveline. Just because I haven't risen before eight since I've known you doesn't mean it can't happen. I'll have you know I've been up since four bells today."

"Well, I stand corrected," humphed the warrior. "Fenris is a good influence on you."

Sofira's eyes narrowed. "Don't you have men to train or something?"

"It seems I do," said Aveline nodding as several of them appeared for their morning calisthenics. She turned away from the pair and walked towards her guards. "Try not to hurt yourself on the morning rays, Hawke. They can be sharp."

"Bite me!" called Sofira after her. Then, to Fenris she said, "We should probably clean up and get to breakfast. Long day ahead. But, I would like to do this again, if you don't mind."

"Tomorrow then?"

She smiled, pleased by his ready response. "Tomorrow."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Back in her room, Sofira washed the dirt off her face and arms and changed into a lemon colored robe. It wasn't her color, none of these things were, but it was the first one she didn't trip on as she walked. Fenris met her in the hallway, his skin washed and hair combed, and they headed down to the dining hall for breakfast.

Tuela had made them crepes, with a variety of sweet and savory fillings like berries and clotted cream, scallions and thinly sliced boar, and herbed foul dressed in a sweet sauce. The companions ate their fill as Sofira collected several variations on a side plate for Anders to have later.

Isabela was full of energy, chattering with Varric and Merrill, teasing Carver, and shooting lusty glances at Fenris and Hawke, noting their shared entrance and a sudden change in Fenris. He seemed... relaxed. Almost. Well, at first anyway. His prickly demeanor crept back as the meal wore on, despite Isabela's attempts at humor with him. Maker's tits, the man was just so moody! Rebuked for the moment, Isabela reminded Hawke that The Seadog would be arriving that morning so they could leave anytime she was ready.

Hawke nodded, stating that it was indeed her plan to do so. Since Merrill would be working with the children, and Aveline and Carver with the guardsmen, Sofira would take Fenris and Varric with them to the docks, right after she had a talk with her brother.

Carver looked surprised to be singled out but he agreed and, after breakfast, they went for a walk. Sofira led him outside the mansion, turning at the front entrance to walk east along the wall. Then, when they had gone a little ways, she handed him their mother's letter. As he read, his broad chest seemed to cave in and his lips pursed into a thin line.

When he was done, he folded the vellum and handed it back to her, his eyes hard on the ground in front of him.

"That was my reaction too," said Sofira, taking the heavy paper from him.

Carver sighed. "We'll need to find those relics quickly, before Isabela ships out."

"I don't know if that will be possible."

"Then we'll have to get away without Trasaric being any the wiser. Have you started thinking of a plan?"

Sofira frowned. "I'm not leaving, Carver. You are."

"You're not coming with me?" he said, his brow furrowing.

She gestured around them. "How can I?"

Carver couldn't have been more stunned if she'd hauled off and struck him with the back of her hand.

"You're abandoning your family duty? For this?" He made an exaggerated version of her gesture.

"I don't see that I have a choice, Brother. When Isabela comes back in a few months, if the holdings are secure and things are settled with Trasaric, I will make the trip to see mother. But she shouldn't have to wait that long to hear the news and I can't tell her something like this in a letter. That would kill her. I'm so sorry to ask it of you, but you must tell her for both of us."

Carver's face darkened in anger.

"You bitch."

"What?" It was Sofira's turn to be stunned. Her skin paled and she took a step back as if he'd actually hit her.

"You heard me."

"Carver, I expected you to be upset but... what the hell is wrong with you?"

"YOU are what's wrong with me!" he roared, "You and your damned pride!"

Years of resentment boiled over. Angry words, which until now had always remained unspoken or hooded within sarcastic undertones, spewed forth from his mouth like hurled stones.

"Bethany is DEAD, Sofi! My sister is dead! She's not coming back! And now some asshole wants to kill you too. What is wrong with you? Why are you still here? You did everything you set out to do! Have you forgotten? Let me list them out for you."

He held up a meaty fist in front of her face and she flinched, afraid he would strike her. But he simply proceeded to flick up one finger at a time as he counted off her achievements.

"You got us to a mage-friendly city! You got your title, Magister! Beth's murderer is dead! The castle is yours! The slaves are free!" He shook five splayed fingers in her face. "What more do you hope to accomplish?"

When she stared at him blankly, mouth open in shock, he threw both hands up in the air and held them there, shaking them as if he might try to crush her head in his palms.

"You think _you_ can stop blood magic? Or end slavery? You? One person isn't going to change a nation, Sofi. And what about the rest of us? You think Tevinter is good for us? Is that what you tell yourself? Varric and Isabela can get by anywhere but did you know that Aveline hates it here? Did you even ask? You think Merrill is going to be able to resist the call of blood magic here? In Tevinter? And that void-damned Anders... seriously, who cares what he wants?"

He stared at her, eyes wild with rage. Anders. Carver growled and turned away. "Ugh, forget it. I don't know why I even bother."

Sofira blinked, acclimating to the hysteria of his deep-seated anger. "Don't stop now, Carver. You're on a roll. Would you like to blame the Blight on me too?"

"Fuck you, Sofi!" he cried, whirling around to face her once more. "You're not listening to me. You didn't even come here to protect Bethany did you? You just wanted to save Anders from Meredith's vengeance. And now you're doing it again. Anders got himself in this mess and what do you do? You turn the household upside down to make a haven for him. If they find him here... well, I say let the bastard fend for himself. He chose to merge with a spirit! He chose to attack the Knight Commander who was just trying to do her fucking job, thank you very much! And he chose to expose his demon to a dozen fucking magisters! Are you going to clean up his shit your whole life? Why don't you just marry him and have his little demon spawn and leave the rest of us in peace!"

Sofira couldn't believe her ears. Was that really what he thought?

"Carver, Anders was trying to save our lives that night, just like he's always done. His abilities have saved us so many times over the years I've lost count! You don't think that's worth anything? The attack on Meredith was... troubling, but... he is what he is. He deserves a second chance. He didn't mean to—"

"Spare me. I've heard it before," spat her brother, cutting her off.

"Then," Sofira's voice turned plaintive. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say you'll leave all this shit behind." He stared at her, his expression hard enough to cut glass. "Sofi, no one wants you here. The Archon's own agent wants you dead. The other senators must think you're a joke. Our mother needs us back home but you're choosing to stay with that fucking abomination rather than take care of your own family? I just... I don't even... my own sister, and I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

Sofira couldn't look away. He'd never spoken to her like this before and she wondered how long he'd felt this way. It was unnerving and heart-breaking and she didn't know if there was anything she could do about it.

"I'm sorry, Carver. I'm sorry Beth is dead. If I could trade my life for hers, I would. I can't."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't want you dead, Sister. That's my point. We're in over our heads. Let's just get out of here!"

"Running away doesn't solve anything, Carver," she said, shaking her head.

"We ran away from Kirkwall."

"Yes, and look where that got us." She gestured around again.

He shot her a baleful glare.

"Do you think I should have let Danarius live?" she asked.

"No," he said, his voice dropping low.

Sofira gave a shuddering sigh.

"I can't leave, Carver. I have to take responsibility for the mess I've made. I have to protect all these people, whose lives became bound to mine when I killed Danarius. I have to keep our friends safe. I promised to give them a better life but now I've screwed it up and I have to make that right. And... I would like to bring some honor back to our family.

"Don't you see? I have an opportunity to turn this shit storm into a blessing for us all. If I can find these relics for the Archon, it may give Tevinter a weapon against those damned Qunari. Then, maybe the Senate would listen to me. Maybe then the Hawke name would mean something again. If you don't think mother cares about that, you're delusional. Our reputation, our name is the only piece of Father she has left. You know both Father and Beth would want—"

Carver snapped. "You're telling me what I know now? Thank you so much, Sister, because as a man who suffers from delusions, I really prefer that you do my thinking for me!"

Sofira's mouth opened but no sound came out.

"I'm done talking anyway," he said and walked towards the front gate without another word.

Hawke was fairly certain the entire estate had heard their argument. As she went back inside, the two guards at the main door avoided her gaze. Isabela and Varric were walking quickly down the corridor, away from her. As Hawke called to them, they stopped as if caught. The pirate turned, pivoting on her heel, and gave Hawke a cheeky grin. Varric sent her a sympathetic smile.

Well, they certainly had heard.

She was about to call for Fenris to get them underway but he appeared around the corner before she gotten past the "F—" So he'd been there too. He, at least, wore an impassive expression that didn't leave her feeling embarrassed or wanting to crawl back under her covers to die. She was grateful to him for that.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Sofira was quiet as they walked toward the docks district. It was as hot as usual now that the sun has risen high enough to inflict its will upon the city. Isabela and Varric tittered back and forth, joking and poking fun at everything they saw. It should have lightened her mood, but sadly it didn't. By the time they arrived on the bridge to the docks market, Sofira was feeling worse rather than better.

Her gait had become faster. Normally she wasn't in a big hurry to get to this area of the city, with its forlorn buildings and oceanic smells, but she wanted something to _happen_ dammit. She almost wished they'd get attacked by brigands so she could knock the hell out of someone who deserved it, but the people walking past were just normal folk going about their business. No help there.

"Hold on!" called out Isabela in a cheery voice. "I'm going to stop at the market and pick up a little grease for the wheels. Captain Lazario likes the tobacco here. Be right back!"

She sauntered over to one of the stalls as Varric watched after her.

"I should go with her," he said, "She's the worst haggler and she's going to need that coin in her pocket when we play diamondback tonight. Be right back."

Hawke nodded and faced into the wind, breathing the salt air and the... smell. She coughed. "Ugh, I hate coming down here! That fishy smell is enough to gag an ogre! They should have wood fires burning constantly to drown out the stench."

_Maker's breath, did I say that aloud?_ Sofira turned to see Fenris arching an eyebrow in her direction. She scowled. "Yes, I know, just one more way the Ferelden immigrant stands out, right? You probably love fish, don't you?"

"I do not," he answered, upper lip drawing back as he caught a whiff of the breeze blowing across the bridge.

She hadn't expected that. At all. Everyone here loved fish. "Really? I think you're the first person I've met here who wouldn't wear this odor as a perfume. I'll never fully understand Minrathans."

Fenris smirked briefly. "Nor will I."

"Aren't you Minrathan?" she asked, warming to this conversation and glad for the distraction from her foul temper.

"I am from Seheron, or so I am told."

"Before you received your markings..."

"Yes."

"But, you still eat fish. Right?"

Fenris shrugged. "I eat to survive. If given the choice, I would not."

"Well, that's something we have in common then. I will remember that," said Sofira, feeling a little better having found one person in all Minrathous who shared her aversion. Even Carver loved... she stopped herself before she could go any further down that road, feeling her shoulders tighten at the very thought of his anger loosed upon her.

"All set!" said Isabela, holding up a tight woven bag as she walked up behind Sofira, Varric grinning by her side.

"Only three silver!" he bragged. "I am a haggling god. You may now bow before me."

Sofira chuckled and bent with a flourish as the dwarf held up his hands and graciously acknowledged his adoring public.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Captain Lazario, commander of The Seadog, turned out to be a nice distraction as well. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was the very picture of one of Isabela's romantic heroes. In fact, with his dark eyes, dark hair, and tanned skin as brown as fine whiskey, he'd probably been the source of several volumes. Plus, he had just enough chest hair to give Varric a run for his sovereigns and wore a white shirt loosely laced to show it off. In a mild Antivan accent, he voiced his pleasure at seeing Isabela again "so soon" and waved them aboard his ship.

Seated in comfortable chairs in the Captain's cabin, they talked about The Seadog's supply route and cargo. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until Isabela pressed him to tell them about his special deliveries, holding out the haggled bag of imported tobacco and promising more as his exotic features grew feline with pleasure. He ordered a lunch for the five of them from the ship's galley and the two captains began a strange discussion, filled with code words and coy glances. From what Sofira could gather after another rather long and confusing hour was that the man did quite a bit of smuggling. Unfortunately, none of it had anything to do with the Qunari and he had no recollection of transporting any relics, nor had he even heard of such things. He said the Qunari were not generally collectors of physical objects, being too practical for such nonsense.

Neither she nor Fenris had taken many bites of the delicate fish fillets or clams on the half shell which Lazario's chef had prepared for them. They'd shared a look of subtle disdain when the two captains were safely intent on each other. It seemed the entire morning and some of the afternoon had been time wasted, without having even eaten a decent meal. Hawke nudged Isabela under the table to prompt an exit, which was a mistake as it turned out, since the foot belonged not to her pirate but Lazario. The two captains had somehow managed to entwine their legs during their lengthy conversation. After a bit of awkwardness, Hawke was quick to thank the swarthy Captain for his hospitality, and the four of them were on their way.

As they descended the boarding plank, Sofira spotted a meat vendor and procured four sticks of grilled fowl for their group. Isabela and Varric looked at her oddly, since they had just eaten a scrumptious meal, so Hawke shrugged and handed two to Fenris, who took them gladly. Between bites, she wondered at their next move. Varric suggested checking with other ships. Perhaps someone had seen something or heard something, really any clue would do at this point. They agreed and spent the rest of the afternoon questioning dock workers, sailors and residents who seemed to have business requiring goods to be transported. But, as the sun began to sink, they'd still not discovered anything useful.

Agreeing to try again tomorrow, the companions parted. Varric and Isabela headed for The Grey Lady, to drink and play cards and listen in on the local gossip. One could never underestimate the potential of a well-timed eavesdrop or discretely placed sovereign. Hawke handed Varric some extra coin in case a bribe became necessary and he promised to return to the estate in the morning to report on anything he'd found. Hawke bid the two rogues a fruitful evening and waved farewell.

Hawke and Fenris walked back to the mansion. Neither spoke on the way, lost to their own thoughts. She dreaded to see what mood Carver would be in tonight as she played back their argument in her head, and the elf wondered what Tuela had prepared, his stomach rumbling like a distant storm, as he searched for predators in the lengthening shadows and alleyways.

They reached the estate without incident to find another of Tuela's culinary masterpieces awaiting them. Aveline, Bellator and Merrill joined them at the table but Carver did not. Hawke was both relieved and concerned but Aveline assured her that he was fine. He simply wanted to dine with the men in the servants' galley after their first day of training together. Hawke nodded, wondering how much he'd told her about their argument or if her friend had overheard the entire thing but Aveline made no mention of it and Hawke didn't really want to ask.

As they ate, Merrill revealed that, after teaching her morning lessons to the children, she'd spent time in the library going through Danarius' collection. She'd found some information on the Qunari, including a translated copy of the Qun, which she had begun to read looking for clues about what they might value as a people. There wasn't much. Apparently, their weapons were the most highly revered objects, equated with their own personal identities. If lost, so was the owner's honor. This at last was interesting! Could the relics be Qunari swords, owned by high ranking warriors? Stolen perhaps? Or perhaps Danarius had envisioned a plan to steal specific ones. Hawke thanked Merrill for her ingenuity and encouraged the Dalish mage to continue with her research. Perhaps more clues could be found within the library.

After dinner, Hawke gave Bellator a good long scratch and then filled two plates of food, not knowing how hungry Anders would be. She bid good night to her friends and carried the plates to her room, followed by Fenris, who assisted by opening the secret door for her. They were both surprised to see Anders at Danarius' desk, a pile of books open before him. He looked up as the door opened and grinned happily as Sofira appeared. He was somewhat less pleased when Fenris entered the room behind her, nodding curtly. He hurried to clear space on the desk and took the plates from her, asking Sofira if she'd eaten.

Answering in the affirmative, she tried not to be irritated that he'd invaded her study, though she couldn't blame a claustrophobic mage for seeking out a higher ceiling and some sunlight. Anders revealed that he'd been in the study for most of the day, studying the marks on Danarius' chalkboard. He reasoned that if he could translate the language used, he might be able to discover some clues. As he ate, Hawke informed him of Merrill's progress in a similar direction and mentioned the translated copy of the Qun she'd found in the library. But Anders was fairly sure the chalkboard writings were not in the Qunari language. He'd seen some examples of it in his travels. At that, Fenris suggested that it might be a dialect, since Danarius had been fond of the Qunari tongue, and asked Anders to read the sounds aloud. Anders cocked his head in curiosity but did as he was bid. Fenris listened for a while and then shook his head, frowning and stating that it was definitely not Qunari.

Both Anders and Sofira looked at each other and then to Fenris, faces painted with expressions of such curiosity that Fenris admitted his knowledge of the language, quoting a passage of the Qun in order to prove it. At this revelation, Anders beamed and began hunting for volumes written in Qunari as Hawke gazed at Fenris with interest.

Anders' excitement was short-lived however. Fenris mumbled that, as a slave he'd never been permitted to learn his letters. Anders' face fell but Hawke seemed to be considering this. She asked if he knew any other languages and the elf nodded. She broke into a wide smile when he stated that he could in fact speak the traders' tongue, which she knew to be the common language that all Fereldans used. Anders sat back and laughed at the fact that they'd been speaking Arcanum for four days, mostly for Fenris' benefit, when he could have understood their Common all along. When Anders' fits of laughter had trickled into a chuckle, Hawke stretched and yawned, claiming that it was time for a bath and then bed.

Anders followed her gaze towards the bathing area and quickly put two and two together. He collected some texts and headed for the stairs, adding with a grin that she should call him if she needed anything. The small book thrown at his head was answer enough. Anders didn't even bother to acknowledge the protective mask worn by Hawke's elven shadow, bidding the elf a good night with a flip of his hand as he disappeared down the steps.

Sofira walked to the bathing area and reached for the closest water pail, just as Fenris' fingers wrapped around the handle. He managed to avoid her touch and stepped back out of her way, leaving her flushed as his scent washed over her and then was gone.

They went about the task of filling the bath as quickly as possible. When the deed was done, they tried not to look at each other too closely while he put back the pails and she tested the warmth of the water with her fingers. After a few lumbering moments of words unspoken, Fenris turned and moved towards the outer door listening to the soft sound of her footsteps behind him.

As he stepped into the hallway, he heard her speak.

"You are full of secrets, aren't you?" Her amber toned voice was heavy with weariness as she leaned on the doorframe.

He turned back to face her. "Some hidden even from myself, my Lady."

Sofira gazed at him for a moment, color rising in her smooth skin. "Would you... say something? In Common?"

_She wants me to prove my ability?_ Fenris wondered at her request, but he had in fact been about to ask her a question anyway, so he simply phrased it in a different language.

"Shall I wake you at dawn, my Lady?" his voice sounded foreign to his ears. The traders' tongue was not a language he used very often though he understood it fluently.

She nodded, smiling faintly. "Sleep well, Fenris."

Then she closed the door.

He stood staring at the charred wood, where she and her brother had removed Danarius' expensive carvings, far longer than he intended.

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><p>.<p>

Once the door closed, Sofira wobbled back to her bath on jellied bones. She hadn't thought it possible for his voice to be any more appealing, but listening to her native language slip from Fenris' lips in that gorgeous Tevinter accent... well, it had surpassed all of her expectations. She'd have to request that he speak it more often. For his own benefit of course. Yes, for practice.

After a long bath, which left her a little breathless but blissfully content, Sofira dried herself off and climbed into her bed with paper and a pen. She had one last task, a letter to write.

When that was done, she fell into a dreamless sleep, the letter left open on top of the ornately carved table next to her bed.

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><p>.<p>

_Dear Mother,_

_Hope this finds you well. I have indeed become a magister - thank you for the well wishes. Your other concerns for my future are noted. Perhaps I will write to you with happy news some day but please try not to worry yourself overmuch._

_As it stands, life in Tevinter keeps us all very busy. Meeting lots of interesting people! You'll be pleased to know your children now have a much larger home to stomp around in. It is a mansion in fact, with servants and everything, just like you always dreamed._

_I will send some Tevinter artwork home with Carver who is leaving for Kirkwall in five days. He bears news. Please know that my heart goes with him and I would come as well if I could. _

_Much love,_

_Sofira_

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A/N: Holy flippin' wordgasm! That was a ton of writing in a short period of time. From now on I'm forcing myself to make each chapter equal one day in Tevinter (or more) to move things along. No more writing three chapters and only one one day passes. At that rate we'd never see the end of this. But I hope this chapter wasn't too long for you. Was it?

Some people have been asking about this story; where it's going, who's going to get busy with whom and when, etc... so here's your answer:

This will be an epic. I am going to take you on one hell of a rollercoaster of a hailstorm of a heroic romance of a tale for the ages. Does that sum it up? Mmm... yea, I think so. The sex will come when it... eh... comes. Heh. (Go read my story It's Mutual if you're craving F/H smut.) Also, consider how long it took in the original game (ie: years!). It's only been 4 days. Hawke and Fenris both have huge relationship issues. Fenris hasn't even had the buffer of being on the run for three years to get away from his slave mindset before meeting Hawke, just a brief interlude with the Fog Warriors. So hang in there, kids.

As for the rest of the story, I will give you a few hints, but just a few. 1) In my world, the souls of Fenris and Hawke are cosmically entwined. 2) All of the original events of DA2 have played out and/or will play out in some fashion, and all of them will involve a Hawke. 3) My own story will be woven in and will take center stage, since the characters are in Tevinter, not Kirkwall. A LOT is going to happen and some of it you may not like, but, hopefully, those bits won't keep you from enjoying the story. I will try to make it all entertaining. 4) I like all of these characters. They may judge each other but I don't judge any of them. I try to treat them like real people, with wants/needs, fears/goals, and their own personal destinies. They will all have a part to play. 5) Three days ago, I finally figured out how I am going to end the story and, let me tell you, I was vibrating on some kind of crazyass writers high ALL DAY because of it. All I can say is, you're going to need popcorn, Kleenex and, possibly, a defibrillator... if you can stick with me that long. :P Actually, yea, go ahead. Put in an order for your defibrillators now because I am starting to plan out future chapters and... damn. You might need 'em. I've already ordered mine, along with a flame-retardant desk chair. Ungh, Fenris!

Music which inspired this chapter:

Fenris/Hawke Sparring:

..."No Ordinary Love" by The Deftones (Hawke's POV)

..."I Will Not Bow" by Breaking Benjamin (Fenris' POV)

Carver's Had Enough: "Numb" by Linkin Park

The Rest of The Chapter: "L490" by 30 Seconds to Mars (the guitar part)

_**Reviews are LOVE! **__-Tori_


	13. Sweet

THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.  
><span>Characters<span>: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)  
><span>Setting<span>: Tevinter Imperium  
><span>Thanks<span>: To my beta slave, Tom, and to you, my readers, who stick with me even through the long delays between chapters. I can't be anything other than what I am. Thanks for understanding that.

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RECAP: An Imperial Agent of the Black Divine by the name of Trasaric is strong-arming Sofira Hawke into locating some illegal relics for him, relics that Danarius was trying to obtain before she murdered him. So far, the companions have a few ideas but no leads and only five days left before Hawke's life is in jeopardy. To protect Anders from Trasaric, Hawke found a secret hiding place for the apostate at Danarius' estate. No one is handling Bethany's death well, but Carver is especially grief-sticken – drinking, withdrawn, and fighting with Hawke. Fenris is coming to terms with his place among the group of strange people now living in his old master's estate. He is determined to serve Hawke, despite his mistrust of her and the inappropriate feelings he has when he's around her. He still sees her as his mistress even though she has given him his freedom. In order to prepare for future battles, they have begun sparring together every morning before breakfast.

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><p><strong>Chapter 13: Sweet<strong>

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Outside Sofira's sanctuary of fur-soft blankets and pillows, a light sprang into existence, reddening the dark, dream canvas of her eyelids and shooing away the surreal images of sleep. Warm, dry, bedchamber air prickled the exposed skin on her shoulder like the brush of motherly fingers. She hummed and tucked her chin. _Is it morning already? Can't be. I'll just sleep for a little while longer._

"Someone close the drapes," she mumbled, squinching her eyes shut and snuggling deeper into the nest of sweet-smelling cloth.

"My Lady, you asked me to wake you." A gorgeous masculine voice drifted into her half-conscious mind drawing her not into wakefulness as intended but back into the realm of fantasy. She smiled into her pillow, brain conjuring patterns of twisting lines, white and winding over tanned muscles, disappearing under dark leather armor to some tantalizing place yet to be explored.

"You're so warm," she murmured, her dream hand touching smooth elven skin as her fingers slid under the pillow beneath her head. _Warm and smooth._

"My Lady?"

It was the right voice but it seemed separated somehow from her reverie. For one thing it was too far away. One eye opened as the warm dark skin disappeared, becoming simple fabric. Fabric with a very high thread count. Almost like skin.

Hawke's head lifted, squinting, a mass of dark hair flung over to one side. The ceiling orbs were dim, providing adequate light not too shocking to her bleary eyes. She peered in the direction from which the voice had come as a lock of hair slid down over one eye. A familiar form held in the alcove leading to the front door, waiting, back turned. It wasn't so easy to tell where the edges of this shape ended and the shadows began, but the blunt shine of a greatsword was an unbroken line in the soft light.

_Fenris? Am I still sleeping?_

Sweeping the hair off her face, Sofira blinked and tried to focus on the details of this apparition as her vision cleared. It did have the appearance of her bodyguard. She blinked again, drawn to the only breaks of color on the shady figure besides the contrasting tousle of white at the top. Two ribbons of muddy green ran down the center of his back, passed underneath the enormous weapon, and turned sharply to edge the hem of his jerkin, obscuring his hips. As her gaze continued down, she noted curious contours in the dark brown leather over his thighs and calves. They weren't seams, more akin to molded layers. For a moment, her practical side surfaced and wondered at the minimal use of metal in his armor. A bodyguard should be covered in metal, no?

This must be an illusion, some trick of the low lighting, a combination of tall shelves and furniture and shadows to fool her mind. Although, if she _were_ imagining Fenris, she was doing a piss poor job of it. Surely she could have thought of more entertaining ways to insert a handsome elf into her dreams. She willed the shape to turn, shed his armor and come to her, moving silently towards her bed like the predatory creature he seemed to be. But the figure in the alcove just stood unmoving and silent. Waiting.

_So perfectly still. I wonder how long a man has to train to be able to hold so still?_

A vaguely remembered conversation filtered through the last mists of sleep, slapping Sofira into consciousness. Training. They were supposed to train. They had arranged to spar together again this morning. This wasn't a dream.

_Holy Maker, Fenris is really in my room._ She looked down. _And_ _I'm naked!_

Suddenly, she was very awake.

"You could have just knocked, Fenris!" Too loud. Now the shadow figure moved, the sharp angles of his shoulders shifted, deflecting the cut of her tone.

"I did, my Lady. You did not answer." His voice was low and cautious and biting in its sudden stark reality. "Apologies. I have displeased you. I will leave."

_Shit._

"No, wait! I'm sorry. I just... I'm not good with mornings. Really, it takes me forever to wake up. Ask anyone!" Sofira bit her tongue. _Ask anyone?_ Maker's dirty toenails. Might as well throw on a headscarf and pirate boots for the impression that must have conjured up. "I mean, it usually takes a lot of pawing and licking before I'll even open my eyes. Heh..."

Her eyes went round in horror. _I did __**not**__ just say that out loud. Oh dear Maker, please kill me right now!_

"B-Bell's paws! Bellator has paws!"

_Brilliant. Really? Care to elaborate?_

"I mean, my mabari wakes me up! With licking... or a paw on my face... not lately of course because he's staying with Aveline, but I usually get woken up by him because everyone else just gives up and he's the only one who doesn't seem to mind... it. Waking me, I mean."

_Maker, seriously, right here between the eyes. Make it quick._

"There is no need to explain yourself to a servant, my Lady."

_Servant._ The word formed ice crystals in her veins slowing her racing heart to a frigid crawl. For all the distance in his voice, he might as well have been a league away.

Sofira uttered a quiet sigh and drew the covers up closer to her neck though she had no real need of such protection. Fenris hadn't moved. Nor would he. After all this time alone, leave it to her to develop a crush on a man she shouldn't want. Couldn't have. She was doomed. At least he hadn't the least bit of interest in her. That made it easier. Actually, no. She frowned. It didn't make things easier at all.

Her pike gleamed at her from across the room as if making a suggestion. Yes, she needed a weapon in her hands. Holding her pike, she didn't stutter like a blathering clodpate. When she was fighting, she was a symbol of confidence. Though she didn't enjoy killing, life was somehow simpler when she was cutting a path through darkspawn or beating the snot out of slavers or even sparring with her brother. Maybe, as long as she didn't try to speak, she could spar with Fenris and regain some dignity. Yesterday hadn't gone too badly after all. Yes. Sparring. That would be good. Better at least.

_Still naked, Sofi._

"Uh... just. Just stand... there. And... don't move." She wriggled through the covers to the other side of the bed and dashed for the changing screen, conveniently located in front of the clothing closet. Thank the Maker for that. Throwing open the doors, she rifled through the contents, grabbing at a pair of leggings. Blue? Green? It was hard to tell in this light. She rubbed the remainder of sleep from her eyes with the back of a hand and held up the cloth. She still couldn't tell but there seemed to be some kind of diamond pattern on them.

_Who cares? It's just going to get dirty anyway._

"Where's my sash from yesterday?" she muttered, eyes searching as she pulled on the leggings. It didn't seem to be here. _Void take me, it's on the other side of the bed! Okay, okay, um... shirt?_ She flipped through the vertical layers of cloth. _Robe. Robe. Robe. Blouse! This will do._

She pulled out the hangar and tossed it on the floor, lifting the blouse up over her head, arms reaching into the sleeve holes as the cloth settled. And knocked her hand right into the changing screen, hard.

"Aiyee! Ow, ow, ow..."

"Do you require assistance, my Lady?" Fenris' voice rumbled through the air.

"No! Just stay there, don't turn around!" Hawke's white hand shot out of a sleeve, grabbing blindly for the falling screen as she tried to pull the blouse down over her head, but the neckline had been tied to keep it from falling off the hangar and the hole was just too small. The best she could do was claw at the ties with her free hand as she wriggled around inside the blouse, trying to see. She managed to pull the corner down over one eye just in time to watch the screen crash to the floor. Then, of course, the ties were only too glad to release. The blouse slipped down easily, coming to rest on her shoulders, the hem settling around her thighs.

_Naturally_, thought Sofira, sighing but gladdened that she was no longer in danger of flashing her bodyguard. Come to think of it however, something still wasn't right. The blouse felt funny, rather close to her skin. Then it dawned on her. _Forgot my breast band! Other side of the bed._

Tripping on the downed screen, she managed to put her foot through the thin wood at the corner. Sofira shook the screen off her leg, cussing under her breath as the wood scraped the top membrane of skin from her ankle, and dove for the bed. Sliding through the covers, she dropped down on the other side, out of sight of the entrance alcove and the waiting elf. She spotted her breast band and the grey sash and reminded herself,_ underclothes first, Sofira. Then shirt!_ She dressed again, wrapping the sash about her waist and tying it in a hurried knot. Last, she yanked on her boots and stood.

"Okay, ready!" she announced, stomping her heel firmly down into the second boot just as the fifth bell sounded from the hightown tower.

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One quarter of a bell earlier, Fenris had been standing outside her door. After several knocks, he'd opened the heavy door, activated the orbs and called out to her. There'd been no response so he lifted his gaze from the floor and moved further into the room, only to discover his mistress sound asleep in her bed, long hair splayed over her pillow in a gentle, dark wave, her bare shoulder rolled forward exposing the upper third of her back amidst a red sea of sheets and blankets, her skin porcelain white and smooth.

He'd blinked, knowing he shouldn't stare but... it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Lying unconscious in her bower, she made this haunted room seem peaceful. The warrior allowed himself a moment of contemplation, savoring the change, while the details of the angelic image before him etched deeper in his mind with each gentle rise and fall of her breath.

A desire had sprung up within him then. It came effortlessly. It felt harmless and natural for all of a second. Then it was just disturbing.

He'd wanted to touch her.

_You would dare, slave? _Danarius' voice echoed in his mind, as loud and clear as if his master stood beside him once more. _You presume too much, slave. And you will suffer for it..._

Ears burning and unnerved, he'd wrenched his gaze from the slope of her shoulder blade down to the Tevinter symbols woven into the carpet, but even in those familiar ivory lines which he'd been staring at for over a decade he could find no solace. It was too late. The curling top of that one was like the fine hairs behind her small, human ear. And that angle there turned like the tip of her nose. His spine stiffened as his mind flashed intimate details at him, the little bumps of her spine, the length of her eyelashes, the color of her parted lips... rose. That was the name of the flower along the coast which also bloomed on her cheeks and stained her mouth. He remembered the day he first saw them. He could see the bushes, their leaves dancing in the sun. He could picture her there among them, on the sandy path, smiling. He could smell the sea. It was just the two of them, alone.

Confused, Fenris shook his head, separating memory from fantasy. Calling out to his sleeping mistress, he announced his presence in a clear voice before this new, bold imagination of his could get him into further trouble.

From that point on, he'd been frozen in place, reciting the names of magisters, vintages of wine, even counting to one hundred in his head – twice – anything to shut down his senses. As such, he was only half aware of her words. He responded as best he could between numbers and names. An opportunity to leave his discomfort behind presented itself... and then disappeared as she asked him to wait for her while she dressed. The cruelty of that request became clear as she moved through the sheets behind him and dressed not ten paces away. Then he realized the true curse of being an elf – the ability to hear every little movement, every pull of fabric, every slide of skin. And his imagination was only too happy to taunt him with images to accompany those sounds.

_Venhedis!_ Anger rose inside him, raw and aimless, directed at no one and everything at once.

It wasn't as if he'd never been in the presence of naked women before. Or beautiful women. In fact the numbers were quite high. But, though he'd noted their finer qualities with appreciation, they had all been easily forgotten. A slave didn't want anything for himself but his master's approval, didn't dare dream of anything but a decent meal. That white shoulder, however, _her_ shoulder was burned into his memory like new lyrium on the inside of his skull, a mark he couldn't escape even when he closed his eyes.

There was a crash, but she'd refused his assistance. It was just as well.

What was she doing to him? What new form of blood magic was this? Was this how she had fooled Danarius? He pictured his old master, leaning over his victim, smiling in the confidence of his victory. At the time, Fenris had actually felt pity for her... and then his master was dead, a poignard through his throat.

Had the duel been a trap all along? And was that to be his fate as well, lulled by beauty and blood magic into a sudden death? Fenris' mind went wild with paranoia, trying to bring order to his confusion and make sense of the last few days, searching for evidence to strengthen his suspicion.

"Okay, ready!" Mistress Hawke announced just as the fifth bell sounded from the hightown tower.

Fenris turned slowly, in case she wasn't quite as ready as she sounded. He was not going to be caught off guard again no matter how beautiful she was or how kind or how different she seemed to be from his old master. She was a mage, not to be trusted. He clenched his fists. He would steel himself and... be...

... resigned to the fact that she was going to keep surprising him at every turn.

The woman walking towards him was painfully discordant in loose, teal patterned leggings and a lime colored satin blouse which seemed more gypsy tent than garment. Danarius had never worn this, he was certain, and it was undoubtedly meant to be nothing more than an undershirt to accent one color of an elaborate robe, not to be displayed like a national flag. The tent was tied off with some kind of twisted grey strap bound twice around her waist. Her hair was... interesting. He could find no other word that fit and in trying to make sense of the visual cacophony before him, his anger drained away replaced by amusement.

He was grateful actually. This walking satire of magisterial grandeur was exactly what he needed to focus, the antithesis of her naked, sleeping form. Then he noticed the rest of the room.

"Do you wish me to call a chambermaid?" he asked, looking around at the destruction she'd left behind. Clothing was everywhere, a broken screen lay on the floor in front of open wardrobe doors and her bed had apparently been attacked by a pack of wild dogs.

Mistress Hawke retrieved her pike, her lips quirking into a smile. She turned and walked towards him, a bounce in her step, which only made her hair do more amusing things, especially that one tuft on the left side of her head.

"Of course not," she said as she breezed past him, smiling as if everything was going exactly according to plan. "Why would I need a chambermaid?"

He wavered for a moment as her scent washed over him, but recovered, adjusting his attention to the ripples in the voluminous shirt-tent as it billowed out behind her and began a new count to one hundred. He could do this.

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"Would you like anything else, my Lady?" asked Aran as a serving girl deposited the last breakfast plate on the dining table. It was stacked with aromatic sausages, just the right amount of seared brown color marking their tender casings. She sniffed, pleased, and the girl scurried away.

"Would you make sure to send this?" Sofira checked the address for the tenth time before handing over the letter she'd written to her mother the night before. "Land courier is fine. Whatever gets it to Kirkwall the quickest."

"As you wish, my Lady," said Aran, curtseying. Then she whispered to Fenris. "Tuela has added two dishes to the menu for this evening and asks that you select wines."

"I will see to it," came the terse reply.

He was seated as far from Mistress Hawke as possible. Their sparring match had not gone well. At least, not from Fenris' point of view. They'd fought with plain staves. She had taken nothing seriously, throwing out jokes as often as blows, and he, in turn, had assumed the opposing role of stern adversary, striking hard and fast and leaving several bruises on her body, which she accepted with a quiet grace every time. She didn't complain or cry, nor did she rise to anger, but it was maddening – like sparring with a clown.

A fighter should take combat with all seriousness. Levity in battle meant mistakes and mistakes meant disfigurement or death. She was far too reckless. If she was going to insist on using martial skills in battle, if they were going to be fighting together against real enemies, that would have to change. She had potential. She was quick, adaptive and stronger than she looked but she held her pike too far from her body, her blocks were inefficient and she missed opportunities to become the aggressor. Fights would last longer than necessary and tire her too easily, especially if facing numerous foes.

Somewhere along the way, Fenris made the decision that he would teach her what her previous fighting instructors had failed to do. The prospect was strangely thrilling, in no small part because he'd made the decision without asking her and he never dared to do such a thing before. In truth, a slave often anticipated his master's needs and met them before being asked – it distinguished a valued slave from a walking blood donor – but this was something different, and deeply personal. In battle, Fenris was a dominant force – relentless, merciless and faster than any foe. In order to teach his mistress, he would have to assume a dominant role and that idea was irresistible to the elf, especially when his mistress didn't object to the shift as it happened. In fact, he could tell she was not only aware but intrigued, which sent his heart crashing against its cage.

Quickly, Fenris reined in his excitement. It would not be wise to assume anything. This was happening because it amused her to permit it. And it did occur to him that, if he pushed her too hard, the dark side of her might reveal itself without warning. She was a mage after all and, therefore, unpredictable. So, he'd been careful. Besides, the thought of causing her any real harm made his stomach twist.

The elf knew he was walking a fragile line but her patience with his tactics seemed endless. So, he'd grown bolder, hitting her again. And again. And again... every time he saw an opening in her defenses, until he began to wonder if she was trying to teach _him_ something as well. He just wished he knew what it was.

Then, out of nowhere, she'd reversed her grip and whacked him on the side of the head, catching the mighty master of combat unaware. As he recoiled from the pain, she'd sung, "Got you!" and danced away, her musical laughter reddening his ears. Maddening.

Fenris had the feeling being around her was going to bring him to a whole new level of self control.

"Fenris, you need a nickname," said Varric.

The elf snapped out of his drifting thoughts and looked to the dwarf wiping citrus juice from his chin with a napkin, the fine white cloth scratching audibly over stubble.

"No, I do not."

"Sure you do. Everyone has a nickname. We've got Daisy, Rivaini, Junior - who I guess is sleeping in this morning - and Blondie... also absent. Where are they?"

"I don't have a nickname, Varric," said Aveline. "I don't see why Fenris should get one when you still haven't given me one yet. I've known you for years."

"I did offer to call you 'Red'."

"Too common."

"Well, I'm sorry Aveline, but 'Warrior Woman Who Scares The Shit Out Of Me' seems too long. When you think of one you like, you let me know and I'll use it. Deal?"

"You didn't give Hawke one either," the Guard Captain pointed out, gesturing to their intrepid leader. The dark haired mage was pushing back the sleeve of her robes which kept falling over her hand as she attempted to scoop scrambled eggs onto a narrow silver fork. Aveline sighed. "Do you want help with that?"

Sofira flinched, suspecting herself of being the 'you' of that query. She looked over at her friend and nodded as the guardswoman stood and walked towards her, shaking her head.

Varric waved a hand in their leader's direction. "Hawke is just... Hawke! Her name says it all: proud, fierce, beautiful..."

"You're such a kiss-up." Isabela chuckled beside her fellow rogue, drilling a spoon into her cinnamon-baked apple.

"...plus, she eats vermin for breakfast! Not literally, of course," said Varric, finishing his comparison and fanning five fingers over his plate. "I'm pretty sure these sausages aren't made of rat. Come to think of it, the Grey Lady could use a cook like Tuela. Think she'd moonlight?"

"I think Tuela's busy enough feeding people here, and the name Hawke is hardly unique," said Aveline, refusing to concede any ground in the argument. Standing behind her friend's chair, she took the offered sash Hawke had untied from around her waist and threaded it inside one sleeve, up the length of her arm, across the back inside her robe, and out the other sleeve. Then she pulled the ends together. "You're lucky Carver isn't here. He'd have something to say about it."

"Junior? Nah. Guy that big has to have a name like Tiny or Smalls. It's in the nicknaming handbook. Look it up." He smiled at Aveline's exasperated expression. The guardswoman had tied off the cord behind Hawke's back, which drew up the sleeves like curtains so their leader could eat properly without impediment. Varric stuck out his lower lip and nodded, impressed, but his expression turned immediately to one of concern. "Hawke! What happened to you?"

The mage's right wrist was red and swollen. There was another mark running the length of her right forearm along the bone.

"Don't worry, Varric. Just a few little reminders of how I need to improve my combat skills. Luckily, I have an excellent teacher."

Aveline turned an angry eye at a certain warrior elf who returned her gaze without any hint of remorse. "I see."

Hawke just shrugged, grinned, and lifted a forkful of egg to her mouth.

Varric gave a short whistle. "If you say so, Hawke. I've always thought your skills were pretty good. But back to my point. The elf needs a nickname. Little Wolf is just... I don't know. It doesn't fit him."

"Him?" Fenris bristled. "I am sitting right here, dwarf. Do not speak of me as if I'm not. The name serves me well enough."

Merrill gave the bodyguard an appraising glance. "He's right though, Fenris. The wolves I've seen are all thin and scraggly. You're rather tall and brawny... for an elf, that is."

"He's lanky," said Isabela with a husky drawl, eyes following the long arm muscles which rippled as Fenris cut into a sausage with his knife. "I like lanky."

"You seem to like a lot of things," he growled. If anyone else had shown an interest in him, he would have been surprised – who in their right mind would desire a scarred ex-slave – but the pirate seemed interested in anything longer than wide, human or otherwise. She reminded him of Magister Galina, a randy gossip with a tendency to carry on at Danarius' parties until something was stuffed in her mouth. It was rarely food.

"Fenris isn't lanky, he's... " Such defensiveness in that amber voice, his mistress' voice. Fenris looked up to see a pink hue creeping up her neck onto her cheeks, her lips parted in mid-rebuttal. Her eyes were locked with Isabela's for a moment, then dropped to her plate, "...not lanky."

"If you say so, sweetness." The pirate picked up a sausage with her fingers, raised it to her lips and took a slow bite, winking at Varric.

Fenris almost grinned – the placement of that sausage was right on cue – but he was more curious about his mistress' reaction to the pirate's comment. His eyes flicked between the two women, wondering at her strange behavior. It made no sense for her to react to something so simple as a description of her slave. Servant. Bodyguard. _Venhedis. Now I am doing it._

Varric coughed into his napkin then turned to his right. "Merrill, you had a good one the other day. What was it? Serious Mage?"

"I am no mage, dwarf," said Fenris.

"That was my point, Fenris," said Merrill, eyes wide and earnest. "You're a warrior, so you can't be Serious Mage."

"And Carver had a good one," continued the dwarf. "Called him Broody. I think that one's my favorite so far."

"I do not brood!" Fenris' tone sharpened.

A chorus sounded from around the table drowned out his words – simultaneous cries of, "Yes! You do!" resounded around him – even from _her_. That stung. He picked up his knife, contemplating its edge, and scowled.

Varric grinned. "Well, I've got to call you something. I could just say 'Hey Elf' but that might get confusing seeing as they're everywhere. If only Anders were here... he's got a good mind for these kinds of things. Where is he? I'll go get him."

"Nice try, Varric," said Aveline, slicing into a tomato.

"You know I'm going to find out anyway."

Isabela recovered herself and leaned toward Hawke. "Come on, sweet thing, tell us where your apostate lover is! Or at least make up something saucy to entertain us. Please say you've got Anders stashed away in some sordid love nest with a big, bouncy bed and plush, red drapes and bowls of succulent fruit."

"He's not my... It's not..." Sofira stopped herself, thinking of the large bed and the red canopy cloth she'd hung for him, startled by how close Isabela was to the truth in her description. "I'm not telling you, Bela! The fewer people who know, the safer he is. It's nothing against you."

"That's fine. I just want details. Is he naked?" the pirate pressed. "Or naked and tied up? Waiting for you to bring him his 'breakfast'?"

"His breakfast of 'succulent fruit'?" clarified Varric, chuckling.

"Mmm... but only if he's been good." Isabela wiggled her brows and smiled. "Has he been good, Hawke? Or has he been a bad, bad man?"

She cast a glance at their leader to gauge the mage's reaction and caught Fenris stabbing at a sausage. He wasn't trying to cut it. He was trying to murder it. Interesting. Her gaze flicked back to Hawke, who was blushing like a school girl. Isabela's left eyebrow climbed upwards. She looked between the two again. Maybe it wasn't the blonde apostate Hawke wanted to serve breakfast in bed. Or maybe it was the other way around? She had to know.

"Fenris..." said the pirate, pronouncing his name as if it tasted of chocolate. "Isn't Hawke adorable when she blushes?"

But the elf simply poked his fork into the mutilated sausage remains and stuffed what stuck to the tines into his mouth. Then his face disappeared behind a curtain of silver white hair. That wasn't very helpful.

"Honestly, Isabela," said Aveline. "Can you be any more obnoxious? Hawke is not the type to fraternize with a man just because it's convenient. She has morals. She has feelings! She's not like you."

"I have feelings, you big, red—"

"Isabela," said Hawke, in a tone which foretold an imminent shift in the conversation, "did you find any leads on our relics last night at The Grey Lady?"

The pirate presented her palm to the guardswoman and turned back to Hawke. "Actually, yes—"

Merrill giggled. "Oh look, he's blushing too."

Everyone followed the Dalish mage's gaze to Fenris who was frozen in place, fork held vertical in his fist.

Varric frowned. "How can you tell?"

Merrill pointed. "His ears are red. That's how we blush."

Fenris' face lifted, green eyes appearing from under the white shade of hair, burning with a glare that said _I am going to kill you and I am going to enjoy it._

"Actually," corrected Merrill, "that's also how you can tell when we're mad. I may have been wrong about the blushing part now that I see the... Mmm, these sausages are delicious. Aren't they delicious?"

Varric observed the beet color purpling Fenris' already dark skinned ears and compared them to the flowery pink blooming on the tips of Merrill's. "Huh. I never noticed that."

"Isabela?" Hawke's voice contained a note of urgency. "You said you had a lead?"

"Oh, fine," said the pirate, abandoning her intrigue for the moment, as much as it pained her to stop when there was clearly something going on. "Varric and I were thinking antique shops might be a good thing to try. Maybe one of the owners knows something about Qunari relics."

"And I have a guy," added the dwarf, picking up the new direction of conversation. "Gets things for people. Might know something – I'm meeting him tomorrow night at The Grey Lady."

Sofira risked a glance at her bodyguard. The elf seemed to have lost his appetite and was sitting back in his chair eyes drilling a green hole into the center of his breakfast plate. "What about the underground element? Considering the alleged importance of these relics, perhaps the Camarilla would—"

Varric barked out a laugh. "The Camarilla? Two years of bribes and queries and I can't even find out who they are. We'd be better off starting with the guilds - thieves, smugglers, assassins – at least they have bona fide representatives. That could take too much time though. Bianca can only stomach so much red tape before she starts shooting holes in things. If we're looking for relics, Kale does most of the smuggling anyway and my guy works with her. So, we're back to tomorrow night. In the mean time..."

The dwarf's expression changed as his words drifted away.

Sofira knew that look. "What is it Varric?"

"Hawke, you've got five days left. This Trasaric guy had years to find these relics. If he couldn't do it in all that time, what chance have we got?"

"I know. He expects me to fail. I just don't know why he's gone through all this trouble to keep me alive for a few days. He must need me for something or I'd already be dead."

"It smells like a set up," said Aveline, frowning.

Merrill sat up. "Why would an agent reveal himself if he didn't need to? Don't secret agents normally work in secret? Or am I missing something again?"

"He definitely wants her looking for the relics, kitten," said Isabela with surety. She tapped a finger against her plump lower lip. "Perhaps he wants a smokescreen. If Hawke is making a commotion, people might forget about him."

That reminded Sofira of something Fenris had told her the previous morning.

_"I suffered no illusions that Danarius needed me, my Lady... He enjoyed seeing how others reacted to me. I fought for him so that he could be free to observe the strengths and weaknesses of his enemies..."_

"Bela, I think you're on to something." Hawke stared up at the ceiling, looking for patterns there as her mind went over things said. "He doesn't expect me to find the relics. He just wants to see how people react to me. Now it makes sense."

Her gaze returned to the pirate, a look of discovery on her face. "I'm his bush beater!

Varric coughed. "Excuse me?"

Merrill's ears pinked as she looked around at the others. "Even I think that sounded dirty. That was dirty, wasn't it?"

"It's a hunting term, Merrill," said Hawke. "A bush beater is a servant who goes ahead of the Lord's hunting party with a stick, whacking at the underbrush to scare up prey. The birds, rabbits, or whatever they are hunting, leap out of their hiding places and the Lord shoots them."

"Oh!" said Merrill. "That's quite clever then."

Aveline rested her elbows on the dining table and clasped her hands together. "Trasaric wins no matter what. If you somehow manage to find the relics, he wins. If you scare up a new lead, he wins. Even if you don't find the relics, he can still point to the fact that you were looking for them which makes you seem involved with Danarius. Any way you look at it, he's got something new to bring to the Archon that will save his own skin. Or at least buy him more time."

Sofira nodded. "He must be desperate by now."

"Must be," said the guardswoman, "You killed a prominent magister with no real evidence and no sanction but you're still walking around, free as a bird, living in his estate. I wonder what other crimes go unpunished around here."

"He is planning to execute me, Aveline. I'm sure he thinks all of this will be the property of the Archon in a few days time."

"Yes. Well. There is that."

Merrill voice was small and soft. "You can't let him win, Hawke. It's not fair. You can't die."

"I'm not going to die, Merrill," said Sofira, gently. "Not for this. Not for someone like him. We're going to find those relics and throw them in his face."

"Don't worry, Daisy," said Varric, patting her hand. The Dalish mage smiled faintly and nodded, wiping at her eyes.

"Let's hit some antique shops." Hawke pushed back her chair, eager to leave. Then she paused. "Oh, don't forget there is a banquet tonight to celebrate the servants' freedom."

"You sure Hawke?" asked Varric. "Seems like bad timing."

"I don't want to postpone it again. Aveline, would you find Carver and remind him, and uh... take care of our friend?"

Aveline lifted a plate filled with food for their secluded apostate. "Already there, Hawke."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Minrathous, jewel of the ancient and modern Tevinter empires, and once capital of the known world, was a large city. It was larger than Val Royeaux or Denerim, bigger than Nevarra and Hossberg combined, larger even than Antiva City which sprawled so gradually into majestic vineyards that visitors were never certain where its borders began or ended. Minrathous had been in existence for 1,878 years, give or take a decade. It had been a bustling port city even before the first Archon was crowned in 1 TE. Now, those who could officially call themselves Minrathians numbered around 86,000 strong, but if one were to include all of the refugees and poor who lived in the lower city, outside and unprotected by its high walls, that number would swell by a few thousand more. So it should have been no surprise that a city, with so much history and so many people, would contain quite a few antique shops. Dozens in fact.

The companions began at home, in Hightown, but they soon discovered that not all antique shops were the same despite being lumped into one category. The first one specialized in furniture sales and restoration. The second, small objets d'art from Orlais, including hand stamps, painted eggs, and jewelry. The next sold artwork from many countries, but was known for its Antivan oil paintings, some of which dated back to the beginning of the Blessed Age. Then there were the others, nine others in fact, all with their own specialties and smells and snooty shopkeepers claiming their merchandise was the finest in all of Tevinter. All of them seemed to become quite offended when questioned about Qunari related objects. High browed objections ran between "No, we most certainly do not carry such things!" and "What kind of person would want them anyway?" These were accompanied by baffled glances, or in some cases, horrified stares at the outfits worn by the two dark-haired women, one distractingly pantless and one apparently fashion retarded.

They were getting nowhere and wasting valuable time in the process. Before they knew it, the morning had stretched into afternoon and the companions hadn't even started on the other districts. As they exited the last shop, Isabela raised her arms straight overhead and stretched, emphasizing her curves out of habit. There were some appreciative, if furtive, glances from passersby. She cast a sideways glance at Fenris to see if he was watching too. Disappointed, she dropped her arms and gave a gusty sigh.

Hawke noted the effort and smiled. It seemed Fenris was the one man in Thedas immune to the pirate's undeniable charms. It was somewhat comforting that such a man existed. Plus, it would have been difficult to watch a romance bloom between them. Isabela was drop dead gorgeous and tended to get anyone she wanted with a snap of her fingers or a wink of her eye. Maybe Fenris preferred blondes? Or other elves? Or... men? Maker. Could it be? That thought took her hopes, however fantastical, and condensed them into a small little knot in her belly. She wasn't sure which would be worse, seeing him with another woman or another man.

Shaking off the sensation of loss, she suggested lunch and the four wandered over to the nearest tavern, a vine-covered building with a hanging sign in the shape of cauldron.

Over stew and ale, they discussed what to do next. It started off with the obvious – they were getting nowhere fast and they had no time to waste, a poor combination.

"Maybe we should split up," said Sofira, rubbing the back of her neck. "Or maybe we're just barking up the wrong tree. Fenris, how did Danarius acquire all those artifacts around his mansion?"

"Many of them were in place before my arrival, my Lady. Others were gifts from sycophants seeking favor. A few arrived in crates, but I do not know from where or why."

"He never patronized a particular antique shop?" asked Hawke.

"None of them, my Lady."

"Or a dealer?"

"No."

Isabela's kohl-lined eyes narrowed. "Fenris, something's been bothering me. You claim you never left your master's side, yet you've offered no advice on finding these treasures. Are you trying to tell me that, in all the time you knew him, you never heard or saw anything that might help us?"

She pointed her empty spoon at his nose.

"If you're holding out on us and my girl Hawke pays the price, I don't care if you've got a bull cock hidden under that jerkin, it won't save you. I _will_ slit your throat."

Fenris snarled back in a low voice, furious at the implication. "I would never put my mistress in danger! Suggest that again and I will show you the color of your heart."

Varric's laughter held a nervous edge. "Hey now. We're all friends here. I'm sure if Broody here had any information to share, he'd be sharing it, right?"

"Do not call me that, dwarf." _And we are not friends._

"Okay. Just trying it out, elf. Relax."

"Fenris," said Hawke, her amber voice a soothing balm. "Anything you can think of would be helpful. It doesn't have to be Trasaric's relics in particular. Any clue could lead us in the right direction."

He couldn't look at her, and it had nothing to do with her disarming beauty. The pirate, damn her and her accusations to the Void, had a point. Why didn't he remember anything useful? It didn't seem possible that Danarius could have hidden something like this. Unless Trasaric was outright lying, the elf should have a great deal to contribute. But there was nothing at all in Fenris' memory that seemed relevant. Odd. Unless...

"Danarius did attend House Balaneus on one occasion."

"The auction house? What was he interested in?"

"A collection of maps drawn by the explorer Zagora from his journeys through Seheron and a translated copy of the Qun dating back to the Storm Age. I believe your Dalish mage found it yesterday in the library."

Sofira looked over at Varric and grinned. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"An auction house would keep records of sales." He grinned back. "We could find out if anyone's been buying Qunari artifacts. Fenris, why didn't you mention this before?"

Hawke flashed a proud smile in the elf's direction. "He's full of surprises. You just have to ask the right questions."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The rest of the afternoon was more productive. It took some convincing and a bribe just to speak to the archivist at House Balaneus but, in the end, Hawke was confident that, when they returned the next day, they would have a solid number of leads. The woman had promised to share records of all Qunari related sales from the last four years. And off the top of her head, she recalled that one antique purveyor had tried to sell Qunari swords through the auction house just two months ago. He'd been refused.

They had a lead.

Varric memorized the address and they were off to midtown. Unfortunately, when they reached it the shop, the door was locked. A dirty sign hung on the inside of the window that read: "Closed. Come back tomorrow."

With that possibility effectively cut off for the moment, Isabela suggested they stop by Hawke's house in order to pick up some of her own clothes. It would be well over an hour before the banquet started. They had the time.

Sofira could tell by the tone of the pirate's voice and the disapproving glance at her borrowed robes that it was more of a demand than a request. Isabela had never been a fan of her old clothing either. Danarius' castoffs must be ill-suited indeed.

The Hawke residence was near the bridge between hightown and midtown, in an area reserved for new money. It was small but elegant in its simplicity, with a large foyer, a dining room, a study, kitchens, and four bedrooms.

Hawke wandered the house under the guise of giving Fenris a tour, but judging from the traces of confusion on his face, it was unexpected and unnecessary. Concluding after a few rooms that she was being ridiculous, she stopped and fell silent, feeling the weight of the space settle in her chest. Being here was painful. Memories of Bethany were everywhere. It had been a mistake to come here.

Seeing her friend's discomfort, Isabela told the men to wait in the foyer and ushered Hawke to her room. The pirate rummaged through closets and drawers, clucking her tongue in a disapproving fashion, murmuring disparaging comments about the "boring" and "dowdy" choices therein. Finally, Isabela pronounced three of Hawke's outfits "wearable," which was to say that they were not quite as drab as the remainders that they left behind. The pirate put them in a sack, which she threw at Fenris on the way out, and the four headed back to the mansion to wash up and dress for the feast, the pirate's arm wrapped firmly around Hawke's, holding the mage close as they walked.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The evening was unusually cool. But the dining hall was a boisterous celebration of warmth. Thousands of orchids had been strung on vines and draped across the wooden beams above, the last crop of the rainy season. Only the finest-smelling plants had been chosen, laced with hints of coconut and honey to enhance the atmosphere. The largest flowers were star-shaped petals of pale lavender cradling small dark labellum from which sprung a single gold stamen. But it was hard to judge the most beautiful. Directly over Sofira's head was a delicate white blossom speckled with magenta and over there a soft yellow in full bloom, dashed with long lines of amber like the back of some elusive forest creature. Smaller bursts of fuchsia, peach, aubergine, ruby and apricot wove between their cousins in bright clusters, accented by sharp green leaves. One could gaze in wonder all night and not see every one of them.

Beneath this canopy of living color sat nearly thirty friends and members of the Hawke estate. At the head table, Magister Hawke and her companions chatted as they waited for the banquet to be served.

Sofira had cast off her borrowed green robe and donned a tailored red tunic with half sleeves, a thick leather belt, and dark brown pants. The garments were practical, which she preferred, and they fit nicely. To her left, Carver sat large and restless in his chair wearing a surly frown. He shifted as if the wooden arms were too close, too confining, when in fact, he had more than enough room inside its thronelike proportions. Aveline, seated on his left, was offering comments to which the young man would nod or shake his head as he shot irritated glances at both his sister and his empty plate. Around the table corner, Aran the housekeeper and her young chambermaid Yulian, exchanged polite words and tried to ignore the tension nearby.

The girl looked well enough, seemingly recovered from her encounter with the apprentice Hadriana. She'd been given a place of honor at the head table in appreciation of her bravery but she wasn't far from her closest friend and fellow chambermaid Oviana, who sat at the nearer of the two side tables. The young ladies sent each other several encouraging smiles when their superiors weren't looking.

Also at the side table was Peyter, the gardener, rocking gently on his seat next to the ex-bodyslaves Regino and Sabinia. Across from them, six school aged children giggled and prodded each other with excitement, dressed in their best clothes.

To Hawke's right was an empty chair, reserved in memory of those who could not be with them. She tried not to keep glancing at it, but was better company than the brotherly cloud of churlishness sitting to her left. Past the vacancy, sat the Dalish mage Merrill and Hawke's trusty bard, Varric, who were happily engaged in conversation. Fenris, sitting just past the table corner, had edged his chair as close to the turn as possible, avoiding any potential for accidental contact with Captain Isabela who occupied in the last seat. She wasn't paying attention anyway, not when there was a table full of single men in uniform so close. Resting her chin on one hand, she grinned and fluttered her fingers at the guardsmen seated at the last table, many of whom were returning her gaze with interest. There were only ten of them she noticed. The others must've drawn short straws to remain on duty this night. No matter. There were two or three that would do if she couldn't convince one of the ex-bodyslaves that "off-limits" was just a silly made up term of Hawke's that didn't really mean anything.

A bell chimed, bringing all conversation to an abrupt halt. A man stood in the doorway in dove grey and white livery. On his chest, he wore the Hawke family crest in scarlet on snow white silk.

Sofira, a glow of pleasure on her face, glanced at Aran, who met her gaze with a serene smile. Hawke shook her head in wonder. The decorations were already amazing. How ever had the housekeeper made the time to hire additional servants and have them dressed for the occasion?

The man with the chimes cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called, resulting in a wave of little gasps and titters from the side tables. They'd never been called that before. "Your dinner is served."

As he stepped aside, the pageantry began in earnest. One magnificent dish after another emerged steaming from the kitchens, served on enormous platters of polished whalebone edged with hammered silver, and carried by more men in the Hawke livery wearing red caps with long plumes. Heady aromas seasoned the already fragrant air as necks stretched to see what delicacies were going to which table. Sizzling meats, steaming shelled seafood, buttery baked pies, soups, fresh breads and delicately seasoned vegetables were revealed one after the other as the attendees' eyes grew wider with the arrival of each new plate.

After the first course had been placed, a mandolin player and a flutist emerged from the kitchens, filling the room with happy music. Like a choreographed dance, the servers surrounding the tables stepped back against the walls, ready to attend to the guests should they need anything.

Sofira Hawke stood, calling out for their chef as the music faded away. "Where is Tuela? Tuela!"

A white hat poked out from the servants' egress, followed by the rest of their chef looking pleased and patting her belly through her apron. Sofira brought her palms together and applauded, a gesture that was mirrored by everyone in the room. As the noise died down, Sofira spoke again.

"You have truly outdone yourself, Tuela. Will you join us?" More cries echoed Hawke's request.

The Orlesian's round face dimpled with pride. "But there is still so much to do, my lady! The nantua sauce is yet being stirred... The cake is not finished! My lady is too kind. No, it is enough to be asked."

Tuela blushed, holding up her hands, and bowed several times in a row as she backed into the kitchen to finish their meal.

Sofira turned to address the crowd.

"I'm not going to give a long speech. This food looks too good! I just want to welcome you to your first week of freedom!" A round of cries erupted in the room but she held up her hands for quiet.

"Freedom is not a fantasy. Some days will be hard. It won't always be candied grapes and roast quail..." she paused, gesturing to the laden platters as the attendants laughed and clinked their glasses together. Then she grinned mischievously, meeting as many eyes as she could, "...but it is tonight!"

Shouts resounded in the dining hall as the servants fell upon their feast. For a while, everyone settled in, filling their plates and taking their first bites as the musicians started in once more, playing a cheerful tune.

At the head table, Fenris reached for a platter of duck confit, only to withdraw quickly as an arm swathed in grey linen extended forward to pick up the dish for him. It was one of the liveried attendants. Growling, Fenris seized the dish from his grasp and commanded the man to go serve someone else.

As the frightened hireling moved away, Fenris glanced up toward table center where his mistress sat. He hoped she hadn't noticed the exchange and judged him ungrateful, but she was deep in conversation with her brother and the Guard Captain. Reading the last two faces, it seemed a tense exchange. If only he were closer. But all he could see of Mistress Hawke was her loose braided hair, the slender muscles bunching under her fitted tunic, and the fingers which gripped her wine glass.

He took a bite of the duck. Fenris' green eyes widened and then closed, savoring a meat he'd never been allowed before. It was incredible – juicy and tender, richly flavored, with a crispy, salted skin – if pleasure could be cooked, surely this would be the end product. Plus, it was a perfect match for the Aggregio he'd brought up from the cellar. He lifted his glass and swirled the crimson liquid as he finished chewing the tender meat, swallowed, and then took a sip. Perfect.

Perhaps the Void would not be such a bad place to go if it were filled with memories such as this. He took another bite of the dark meat. It was just as wonderful as the first. This was... good. Everything else faded away for a moment as he enjoyed the taste, the sounds of music and laughter, and the absence of his old master. He felt as a normal man must feel, sitting down to his dinner.

_Normal._ Fenris flinched and opened his eyes. _I do not belong here._

A slave could not... a bodyguard could not afford such lapses in judgment. Food was no excuse to get distracted from his duties.

He came back to himself and looked around. To his right, the back of the pirate whore's head as she flirted with one of the guards at the next table. On the other side, the Dalish and the dwarf chatted together. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everyone except his mistress and her brother. Though her head was still turned from him, Fenris could see one finger on her wine glass tapping a fast, irritated rhythm.

Now the pirate captain was saying something next to him. Fenris wasn't sure if her comment was directed at him but it seemed to be the way it came straight at his ear. He ignored her. As long as she kept her distance, he didn't care what she said. Fenris ate his duck and sipped his wine as he tried to read the lips of his mistress' brother. Very little of it he could make out as the man spoke mostly through clenched teeth. If only he were closer, or the room were quieter, or the whore next to him would stop her senseless prattle, but it was useless.

Mistress Hawke's profile came into view. She looked upset as she lifted her glass and tipped the contents to her mouth. Fenris noted how far the base of the goblet rose. She was nearly without. He glanced around for an attendant but the hired servants were busy at the other tables. The closest was trying to explain the concept of foie gras to one of the guards, his voice rising slightly over the din in order to be heard. It seemed the men were getting an unexpected education in culinary delicacies tonight.

Fenris rose, taking his bottle of Aggregio Pavali with him.

As he neared Mistress Hawke's chair he could hear her speaking in hushed but aggravated tones to her brother. Guard Captain Aveline looked up as he approached and he gave her a curt nod. She made a small movement with her hand to suggest this was not a good time but, as she had no authority over him, he ignored the warning.

The elf checked his lady's plate. She'd chosen the duck confit as well. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine. He'd brought the correct wine.

"I'm not going to go get him," Hawke whispered to her brother. "That would be too dangerous. I'm just saying that he should be here because he helped make all this possible."

Carver snorted and hissed back. "Which time? When he forced us all to move here or when—"

"No one forced you to go anywhere—" Feeling someone behind her, Sofira turned around, eyes meeting wide armor ribbing and following the lines up to a familiar elven face. "Oh. Hello, Fenris. Is everything all right?"

"My Lady, your glass is empty." He held up the bottle of Pavali.

She looked confused for a moment but then her pained expression gave way to a faint smile, as if wakened into a memory. Nodding, she held up her glass, fingers softening around the crystal bowl.

As Fenris poured, he kept his eyes on the stream of deep red coming from the long-necked bottle. It splashed into her hand, throwing a scarlet cast to the white flesh of her upturned wrist. The joint displayed no sign of injury. She must have been to see her abomination.

Fenris turned the bottle and set it down next to her.

"Don't s'pose you have any ale on you, Fenris." Carver barked out a laugh and held up a large tankard which must have been brought from somewhere else since Danarius had never suffered ale in his house. It was the drink of men with dirt under their fingernails. Carver wiggled the tankard at the elf, but when he received no more than a dead gaze in return, turned his ire elsewhere, raising his fist and shouting, "Porter! More ale!"

Mistress Hawke cringed at the noise. Then she threw Fenris a quick grin. "Thank you. That was very sweet of you, but please go enjoy your dinner. You shouldn't be working tonight."

Had she just called him "sweet"? His next breath did not come easily.

Fenris' eyes flicked to the unoccupied seat next to her but she had already turned away to lay a pacifying hand on her brother's forearm. Their brief conversation was over.

Guard Captain Aveline was looking up at him with a wary expression on her face. It seemed he had intruded on a private moment and would not be invited to join them. Foolish of him to think his mistress might ask, he realized. The elf straightened. He returned to his place without a word, and without a glance at the others.

_Foolish._ He sank into his chair and glared at the remains of the duck on his plate. It was cold.

Varric's voice interrupted the spiral of his declining mood. "Fenris, I'd like your advice. I'm writing a story about a man named Tanarius. He was a magister who lived in a fancy estate and didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. I'm going to circulate it around Minrathous as a kind of entertaining fable of what happens when greed corrupts. Maybe you can help me flesh it out."

"What would you want from me?" asked Fenris, glad for the distraction. Mistress Hawke was speaking to the housekeeper now. The chambermaid Yulian looked up and smiled. As they spoke, another course of dishes was brought forth from the kitchen. Old plates were whisked away and replaced with clean ones.

"I need some good dirt on your old master. Is there anything he did that was particularly horrible? I mean something beyond the usual slave beatings and blood magic. Something to inspire the masses. Like, did he ever turn anyone into a frog or a pig or a gnat? Or maybe he himself turned into a savage beast every full moon?

"No, of course not," answered the elf, surveying the new presentation of delicacies. As his gaze wandered he saw Mistress Hawke speaking with the chambermaid directly. The girl's eyes seemed to sparkle from the attention. Fenris hated himself for envying her even as he wondered at it. A mage's attention was not something to be sought.

"Okay, then did he ever force a beautiful princess to spin straw into gold until her fingers bled? Or lock her up in a high tower in the middle of a forest all alone? Or put her in a poisoned dress and force her to dance to her death?"

"No," said Fenris, irritated, turning to the dwarf who picked up one of the sweetbreads from his plate, stared at it for a moment, shrugged, and then popped it in his mouth. "Where would you get such ideas?"

"Old dwarven tales. Been around for centuries. Most of them aren't true." Varric chewed, grinning. He swallowed and tried once more. "Maybe he kidnapped children and threw them in an oven? With the intent of eating them later?"

"Nothing so obvious. Danarius considered himself a great patriot and a scholar. He was brilliant, devious and ruthless in his quest for power. As you say, he also beat his slaves and used blood magic, but that seems to be of little interest to you."

"You're right, I can't use that," frowned the bard. "Wouldn't stand out much from the others then, now would he? It's okay. I can just make something up if I have to. By the way, you're in here too. Tanarius never goes anywhere without his trusty Lycaris."

Fenris glared. "You named my counterpart 'Wild Dog'?"

"Yep! Close enough for similarity but makes you sound more untamed. You're the suffering yet dutiful slave who dreams of a better life. And I made your tattoos silver so they shine in the moonlight... for the ladies."

Varric sat back and winked at the elf.

That description had certainly drawn Isabela's attention. Fenris could feel her leaning closer and edged to the side of his chair. If only he'd been allowed to bring his sword, not that he needed it. Just a quick move and she'd never annoy him again.

He glanced up. Mistress Hawke had been drawn back into conversation with her brother who, for a moment, returned the elf's gaze. _Venhedis._ Too many people here for even a subtle display. He would have to be polite.

Fenris fixed his eyes on Varric, determined to set the record straight. "Danarius was a powerful blood mage and a ruthless politician. People were mere pawns to him. Between his high rank in the senate and his vast wealth, there was no one who did not seek his favor. Everyone fought to be invited to his parties. Magisters and nobles of the great houses were no exception."

"At these parties..." Isabela's voice drifted over to them. "Did your master oil you up?

"What?" Fenris turned to look at her, wondering if she were already down in her cups to ask such an inane question, but her expression was merely one of fascination, not drunken stupor.

"I'm just curious. The debauchery of Tevinter orgies is legendary throughout Thedas. They are said to last for days, even weeks, and all the while there is music and dancing and drinking – only the most expensive wines and the richest foods like larks' tongues and eels from the Colean Sea – not to mention all the wild sex. Actually, I'd love to mention it but I can't since I've never been to one. I can imagine though! I've heard that magisters rub their slaves in oil and gold dust so they glisten. So is it true? Did you glisten for Danarius?"

"I was his bodyguard," said the elf in response. _Insufferable woman. Go find another sausage._

"Mmm. Standing right there by his side. Glistening." She drew out the last word, perverting it into something one wouldn't want to touch without gloves.

"I... was not oiled," answered Fenris, lip curling in disgust as a host of unfortunate memories filled his mind. No, there had never been oil. "You think I served him as a bodyslave?"

"Did you?" Isabela arched a delicate eyebrow.

Fenris maintained the calm exterior he'd cultivated from years of withstanding much worse than the pirate's pointed questions, but underneath he boiled with rage. Fenris gripped the arms of his chair and squeezed, imagining they were the pirate's bones, stopping just short of snapping them. The pirate had never been a slave, never been subjected to the whims of a master who placed no value in other lives except for what influence they could wield if they were men of importance or, if they were not, what lifeblood they could provide him for his experiments. She couldn't possibly know what it was like to have one's entire existence quivering in the palm of your master's hand like some fragile thing every second of every day of one's entire life because _none_ of it belonged to you. There had been no such thing as choice.

Someone was watching him. He could feel it. He glanced up and met Carver's brown eyes, now observing him closely from the rim of his ale mug. Apparently, Carver didn't appreciate the attention being lavished on the elf by Isabela. Little did the young man know Fenris didn't appreciate it either.

"Say no more, whore," the elf rumbled in a dangerous, quiet voice. "You know nothing of which you speak or you would not make light remarks. Regino or Sabinia may be willing to sate your curiosity. I will not."

"Fine," said the pirate, her voice light despite the venom he'd spat at her. "They look like more fun anyway. Oh look! Dessert!"

A three-tiered cake decorated with white flowers was wheeled out of the kitchen on a silver cart. Cries of excitement resounded across the room as those who hadn't finished the food on their plates hurried to do so. Fenris could smell the coffee beans and sweet chocolate as it passed. Added to the bile risen in his throat, the scent sickened him.

Then Carver Hawke stood, tankard raised. "Quiet! Everyone quiet! I want to make a toast."

The music died. Conversations trailed off as the young warrior continued. "There's a reason you're all sitting here, eating this fine feast as free men and women."

"Carver... " Mistress Hawke looked worried, as if she knew what he was going to say and was dreading it.

"My sister, Bethany Hawke, lost her life to your foul master Danarius—"

Sofira gave a little gasp. "Carver, _please_ sit down. This dinner is to celebrate their freedom, not to make them feel badly for it. You'll ruin everything!"

She placed a hand on her brother's arm, which he shook off, rejecting her plea.

Fenris felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. His leg muscles flexed, ready to spring should the boy become any rougher with his mistress.

Carver's voice grew louder, angrier. "My sister was forced into a back alley and... burned alive. There were no witnesses. No one to make him pay for his crime. No one except us. So _we_ made Danarius answer for his sins. And now you're all free..."

The younger Hawke paused, mouth tight, brows drawn together in a dark gash of emotion. His eyes shot sharp accusations everywhere he looked, searching for even one target on which to vent his anger, but he met only sympathy and a little fear for what might come next. Suddenly aware that his audience was filled by people who were as much victims of Danarius' cruelty as he, the young man's shoulders rounded. He wavered, floating lost on an ocean of grief with no end in sight.

He lowered his tankard and it seemed that he might sit down and end there, but then he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was a strange, low sound, like a chill and haunting wind. Still it carried through the hall due to the utter silence surrounding it.

"My sister has given you all a gift," he said, his eyes bright and desperate with meaning. "Everything that happens to you from this day forward is your choice. Don't squander it."

"Out of death, comes life," whispered Merrill as Carver downed his ale and slammed his mug onto the table, making the nearby silverware jump in a clang of metal.

At the far table, the gardener Peyter stood and raised his glass, rocking with involuntary tremors. "My Lady. My Lord. We honor your loss. It was a terrible thing. May your sister find peace at the Maker's side."

Carver nodded and fell back into his chair, dropping his forehead onto the heels of his hands.

Sofira reached up to touch the back of her brother's neck and rubbed gently at his skin, wishing she could take his pain away. It was too quiet.

"Music," she called out. The players chose a pleasant ballad and conversation began to flow. Then she nodded at the hirelings to serve the cake.

Fenris refused his portion, listening as Varric and Isabela recounted one of their early adventures to Merrill. The conversation didn't directly include him so he was free to watch the interaction between the Hawkes. His mistress maintained contact with the back of her brother's neck, fingers moving slowly. Fenris wasn't sure what good this could possibly do unless she was casting some kind of subtle spell, but her touch did seem to have a calming effect on the young man. After a while, he raised his head and she smiled at him. He gave her a faint smile in return and just like that it was done. The stress and anger of the last few days were forgotten. Forgiven.

Was that what it meant to have family?

"Ungh, this is so good! I'm going to ask the cook to make another one of these cakes," said Isabela, loud enough for Fenris to hear. She shot him a sideways glance. "Only bigger and in the shape of a king-sized bed... Interested?"

Fenris rolled his eyes.

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_A/N: Guh. This was a rough chapter. So much to keep track of and a difficult headspace to write from, ie: Fenris in transition with a million things coming at him and **everything** different. I swear I'm am keeping the makers of Excedrin in business. If I even pulled off 10% of what I was going for, I'll be thrilled._

_Music which inspired this chapter:_

_"Pearl's Girl" by Underworld  
>"Half Moon" by the youth<br>"Lucky You" by Deftones  
>"This is War" by 30 Seconds to Mars<br>"Water" by Breaking Benjamin_

_To name a few... _

_**Reviews are LOVE! **-Tori _


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